her."

At that moment she heard Dorothy's voice calling her, and she went
quickly to her side.

"Oh, how long have I slept, Katy?" she cried.

"An hour or such a matter," responded the girl. "They have all been to
dinner, but I thought sleep would be better for you."

"How long since?" cried Dorothy, springing from the sofa. "And did they
not send up for me?" asking both questions in a breath, and waiting
with feverish impatience for an answer.

"No," said the girl, bluntly.

"Did they forget me?" whispered Dorothy, in a voice so hollow that the
tone frightened the little maid.

"It looks very much like it, Miss Dorothy," she answered; "but I did not
forget you; I brought you up a whole trayful of things."

"I can not eat," sighed Dorothy, and she murmured under her breath:
"Yes, they forgot me--forgot me! Come here, my good girl," she went on,
very nervously; "there is something I want you to do for me."

Katy came close to her side. Dorothy reached out her hand and caught the
girl's arm in her trembling grasp.

"I want you to slip down quietly, Katy," she said--"mind, very
quietly--and see what they are doing down in the drawing-room. I hear
Mr. Kendal's voice and Miss Vincent's. Take notice if Mrs. Kemp is with
them, or if they are alone."

"Are you going down to-night, Miss Dorothy?" asked Katy.

"If it isn't too late," she answered, in a tremulous voice, adding: "I
want you to lay out the prettiest dress I have, and some nice ribbon for
my hair, before you go. I can be dressing while you are gone; it will
save that much time."

Katy did as she was bid, and a few moments later was creeping
noiselessly down the back stairway, which led to the drawing-room.
Drawing the heavy silken _portieres_ aside, she peered cautiously in.
As she expected, Mr. Kendal and Miss Vincent were enjoying each other's
society, quite alone. But that was not the worst of it.

CHAPTER XVII.

Katy gazed long and earnestly at the picture before her.

Miss Vincent sat at the piano, magnificently dressed in a pale blue
chiffon evening dress, with great clusters of pink roses at her belt, at
her throat, and in the meshes of her jetty curls.

Beside her, turning over the music, and bending like a lover over her,
was Harry Kendal.

And as the girl watched she saw him suddenly lift to his lips the little
white hand that was straying over the keys.

"Do let me persuade you to sing for me, Iris," he was saying. "In what