mply awful.
Shock after shock!" She laughed again, glancing roguishly at Barrie. "I
want you all to come to my sitting-room--this very minute--to hold a
council of war. It's most necessary. You dear, pretty child"--this
adorably to her daughter--"how much more mischief have you done already?
How many people have you let into the ghastly secret?"

Barrie hung her head, and looked down. She must have known that
sympathetic eyes were on her, and have wished to avoid them. "There's
only Mrs. West and--and--I suppose her friends the Vannecks--and Mr.
Douglas--a Lieutenant Douglas----"

"Horror! Their name is legion. What a scrape. Well, I must appeal to
their mercy. Please come up with me, everybody, and we'll talk it over
and see what's to be done. There isn't a moment to lose."

By this time I began to guess what she was driving at, though the dazed
expression of Mrs. James told me that she was still in the dark.

We got into the lift and were shot up to the next floor, nothing being
said on the way except a conventional word or two about the motoring
weather. "I came in a friend's car--I'll tell you all about it," Mrs.
Bal added as she led the way to her rooms.

The two maids had arrived on the scene already. Doors were open; luggage
was being taken in under the direction of the red-haired ones; but in
the large sitting-room there was no sign of confusion. Quantities of
flowers adorned it, in tall glass vases and gilded baskets tied with
ribbons. Signed photographs of royalties and generals and judges, the
latest aviators and successful explorers, all in monogrammed silver
frames, were scattered on mantel and tables and piano-top. There were
plump cushions of old brocade on the several sofas and lounges. The
largest table had a strip of rare Persian embroidery laid across it, and
was graced rather than laden with novels, boxes of sweets, and silver
bonbonnieres. Evidently the maid who had come in advance had had her
hands full!

"I must have pretty things to give me a home feeling. Touring would be
too horrid without that," she laughed. (Mrs. Bal laughs often in private
life; what clever woman with dimples does not?) "Now, sit down, and let
us discuss this desperate situation. But first--come here, Barribel. I
want to look at you."

Barrie came. Mrs. Bal caught the girl's hands, and held her out at arm's
length.

"You pretty creature!" she exclaimed. "Oh!" and she threw an appeal to
us. "To think I should be the