Stirlings, Gatchells, Captain Warfield and his daughter, Bowdoin, and
Purviance. They were all there; everybody, in fact, who could squeeze
inside the drawing-room; while those who couldn't filled the hall and
even the stairs--wherever Richard's voice could be heard.

St. George edged into the packed room, swept his glance over the throng,
and made his way through the laughing groups, greeting every one right
and left, old and young, as he moved--a kiss here on the upturned cheek
of some pretty girl whom he had carried in his arms when a baby; a
caressing pat of approbation on some young gallant's shoulder; a bend
of the head in respectful homage to those he knew but slightly--the
Baroness de Trobiand, Mrs. Cheston's friend, being one of them; a hearty
hand held out to the men who had been away for the summer--interrupted
now and then by some such sally from a young bride as--"Oh, you mean
Uncle George! No--I'm not going to love you any more! You promised you
would come to my party and you didn't, and my cotillon was all spoiled!"
or a--"Why, Temple, you dear man!-I'm so glad to see you! Don't forget
my dinner on Thursday. The Secretary is coming and I want you to
sit between him and Lord Atherton"--a sort of triumphal procession,
really--until he reached the end of the room and stood at Kate's side.

"Well, sweetheart!" he cried gayly, caressing her soft hand before his
fingers closed over it. Then his face hardened. "Ah, Mr. Willits! So
you, too, must come under the spell of Mr. Horn's voice," and without
waiting for a reply continued as if nothing had interrupted the joy of
his greeting. "You should sit down somewhere, my dear Kate--get as near
to Richard as you can, so you can watch his face--that's the best part
of it. And I should advise you, too, Mr. Willits, to miss none of his
words--it will be something you will remember all your life."

Kate looked up in his face with a satisfied smile. She was more than
glad that her Uncle George was so gracious to her escort, especially
to-night when he was to meet a good many people for the first time.

"I'll take the stool, then, dear Uncle George," she answered with a
merry laugh. "Go get it, please, Mr. Willits--the one under the sofa."
Then, with a toss of her head and a coquettish smile at St. George:
"What a gadabout you are; do you know I've been three times to see
you, and not a soul in your house and the front door wide open, and
everything done up in curl pap