h Barres presented to guide her in
her descent to earth.

It may have been partly the magnificence of Hohenlinden that so
thrillingly overwhelmed her as she seated herself with Garry on the
marble terrace of an amphitheatre among brilliant throngs already
gathered to witness the eagerly discussed spectacle.

And it really was a bewilderingly beautiful scene, there under the
summer stars, where a thousand rosy lanterns hung tinting the still
waters of the little stream that wound through the clipped greensward
which was the stage.

The foliage of a young woodland walled in this vernal scene; the
auditorium was a semi-circle of amber marble--rows of low benches,
tier on tier, rising to a level with the lawn above.

The lantern light glowed on pretty shoulders and bare arms, on laces
and silks and splendid jewels, and stained the sombre black of the men
with vague warm hues of rose.

Westmore, leaning over to address Barres, said with an amused air:

"You know, Garry, it's Corot Mandel who is putting on this thing for
the Gerhardts."

"Certainly I know it," nodded Barres. "Didn't he try to get Thessa for
it?"

Thessalie, whose colour was high and whose dark eyes, roaming, had
grown very brilliant, suddenly held out her hand to one of two men
who, traversing the inclined aisle beside her, halted to salute her.

"Your name was on our lips," she said gaily. "How do you do, Mr.
Mandel! How do you do, Mr. Trenor! Are you going to amaze us with a
miracle in this enchanting place?"

The two men paid their respects to her, and, with unfeigned
astonishment and admiration, to Dulcie, whom they recognised only when
Thessalie named her with delighted malice.

"Oh, I say, Miss Soane," began Mandel, leaning on the back of the
marble seat, "you and Miss Dunois might have helped me a lot if I'd
known you were to be in this neighbourhood."

Esme Trenor bent over Barres, dropping his voice:

"We had to use a couple of Broadway hacks--you'll recognise 'em
through their paint--you understand?--the two that New York screams
for. It's too bad. Corot wanted something unfamiliarly beautiful and
young and fresh. But these Northbrook amateurs are incredibly
amateurish."

Thessalie was chattering away with Corot Mandel and Westmore; Esme
Trenor gazed upon Dulcie in wonder not unmixed with chagrin:

"You've never forgiven me, Dulcie, have you?"

"For what?" she inquired indifferently.

"For not discovering you when I should hav