as the hour for dressing
approached.

"We dine early, dear," said Constance, "with supper after the opera. I
must be off to dress."

"I am so eager to meet Mr. Medcroft. Is he nice?"

"He's the dearest thing in the world," cried the other, her cheeks
aglow.

"I'm so glad, on Edith's account. Most of these English matches turn out
abominably," commented Miss Rodney, who was twenty, very pretty, and
very worldly. "Oh, did I tell you that Freddie Ulstervelt is with us?"

"No!"

"We came across him in Berlin, and dad asked him to join us, if he had
nothing better to do, so he said he would. He was with us in Dresden and
Prague and--don't you think he's awfully jolly?"

"Ripping!" said Constance with deplorable fervour.

"How awfully English! He said he'd seen you in Paris this spring."

"Yes," said Miss Fowler, her cheeks going red suddenly. "I told him
you'd asked me to be with you in June." She could have cut out her
tongue for saying this, but it was too late. Katherine laughed a trifle
hardly after a stiff moment; then a queer light flitted into her
eyes,--the light of awakened opposition. Constance was saying to
herself, "She's in love with Freddie. I might have known it." Back in
her brain lay the memory of Freddie's violent protestations of love,
uttered during those recent days in Paris. He had threatened to throw
himself into the Seine; she remembered that quite well--and also the
fact that he did nothing of the sort, but had a very jolly time at
Maxim's and sent her flowers by way of repentance. Knowing Freddie so
well, it would not have surprised her in the least to find that he had
become engaged to Katherine. His heart was a very flexible organ.

[Illustration: Katherine]

"Oh," said Katherine, "I believe he did say that you had mentioned us."
Of herself she was asking: "I wonder if she is in love with him!"

And thus it transpired that Freddie Ulstervelt--addlepated,
good-looking, inconstant Freddie, just out of college--was transformed
into a bone of contention, whether he would or no.

He was of the kind who love or make love to every new girl they meet,
seriously enough at the time, but easily passed over if need be. Rebuffs
may have puzzled him, but they left no jagged scar. He belonged to that
class which upsets the tranquillity of inexperienced maidens by
whispering intensely, "God, it's grand!" And he means it at the moment.

Katherine Rodney was in love with him. He belonged to a fash