high and powdered--a
black silk scarf over white satin, and a blue sash.

"Awfully becoming!" said Kitty, nodding to her. "Who are you?"

"My great-great aunt!" said Mary, courtesying. "You, I see, go even
farther back."

"Isn't it fun?" said Kitty, pausing beside her. "Have you seen William?
Poor dear! he's so hot. How do you do?" This last careless greeting was
addressed to Cliffe, whom she now perceived standing behind Mary.

Cliffe bowed stiffly.

"Excuse me. I did not see you. I was absorbed in your dress. You are
Artemis, I see--with additions."

"Oh! I am an 'article de Paris,'" said Kitty. "But it seems odd that
some people should take me for Joan of Arc." Then she turned to Mary. "I
think your dress is quite lovely!" she said, in that warm, shy voice she
rarely used except for a few intimates, and had never yet been known to
waste on Mary. "Don't you admire it enormously, Mr. Cliffe?"

"Enormously," said Cliffe, pulling at his mustache. "But by now my
compliments are stale."

"Is he cross about William's letter?" thought Kitty. "Well, let's leave
them to themselves."

Then, as she passed him, something in the silent personality of the man
arrested her. She could not forbear a look at him over her shoulder.
"Are you--Oh! of course, I remember--" for she had recognized the dress
and cap of the Spanish grandee.

Cliffe did not reply for a moment, but the harsh significance of his
face revived in her the excitable interest she had felt in him on the
day of his luncheon in Hill Street; an interest since effaced and
dispersed, under the influence of that serenity and home peace which
had shone upon her since that very day.

"I should apologize, no doubt, for not taking your advice," he said,
looking her in the eyes. Their expression, half bitter, half insolent,
reminded her.

"Did I give you any advice?" Kitty wrinkled up her white brows. "I don't
recollect."

Mary looked at her sharply, suspiciously. Kitty, quite conscious of the
look, was straightway pricked by an elfish curiosity. Could she carry
him off--trouble Mary's possession there and then? She believed she
could. She was well aware of a certain relation between herself and
Cliffe, if, at least, she chose to develop it. Should she? Her vanity
insisted that Mary could not prevent it.

However, she restrained herself and moved on. Presently looking back,
she saw them still together, Cliffe leaning against the pedestal of a
bust, Mary beside