dinner by the
stranger in our almost family party, Robert Gordon, who was also the
oldest man present. Ordinarily, Dicky would have realized that his
demand to have me change this conventional arrangement was a most
ill-bred and inconsiderate thing. But Dicky sane and Dicky jealous,
however, were two different men.

Always before this day Dicky had regarded with tolerant amusement the
strange interest shown in me by the elderly man of mystery who had
known my mother. But the magnificent chrysanthemums which Mr. Gordon
had brought me, dozens of them, costing much more money than the
ordinary conventional floral gift to one's hostess ought to cost, had
roused his always smouldering jealousy to an unreasoning pitch.

Fear of hurting Robert Gordon's feelings was the one consideration
that held me back from defying Dicky's mandate. Experience had taught
me the best course to pursue with Dicky.

"If, as I suppose, you are referring to Mr. Gordon, it may interest
you to know that I have not the faintest intention of going in to
dinner with him," I retorted coolly. "Lillian wants to talk with him
about South America, and I shall have your friend, Mr. Underwood, as
my escort."

"Gee, how happy you'll be," sneered Dicky, but I could see that he was
relieved at my information. "You're so fond of dear old Harry, aren't
you?"

"To tell you the truth, I have to fight all the time against becoming
too fond of him," I returned mockingly. "He can be dangerously
fascinating, you know."

Dicky laughed in a way that showed me his brainstorm over Robert
Gordon had been checked. But there was a startled look in his eyes
which changed to a more speculative scrutiny before he moved away.

"Oh, old Harry's all right," he said. "He's my pal, and he never means
anything, anyway." But I noticed that he said it as if he were trying
to convince himself of the truth of his assertion.

When I told Harry Underwood that he was to take me in to dinner, and
we were leading the way into the dining room, his brilliant black eyes
looked down into mine mockingly, and he said:

"You see it is Fate. No matter how you struggle against it you cannot
escape me."

"Do I look as if I were struggling?" I laughed back, and saw a sudden
expression of bewilderment in his eyes, followed instantly by a flash
of triumph.

Everything that was cattishly feminine in me leaped to life at that
look in the eyes of the man whom I detested, whom I had even feared.