was laid out.

Mrs. Stuart turned to her protegee:

"Grace, you've made a tremendous hit to-night. Your pearls look
magnificent. All the women are raving about them."

"They ought to be," replied Grace indifferently. "They cost enough."

"Forty thousand, didn't you say?"

"I think that's what dad paid."

"Lucky girl! They might be glass for all you seem to care."

Grace made a gesture of impatience as she answered:

"What good are they? Merely pretty gewgaws. Their value means nothing to
me. I'm sick of hearing what things cost. They won't bring me what I
want most."

"What's that--a husband?" smiled Mrs. Stuart.

"Yes," replied Grace petulantly. "A husband--a man I could respect
enough to want to marry. I lose patience with all these animated monkeys
that dangle after me. I want a real man."

"Not very kind to the count after he's been so attentive to you all the
evening," replied Mrs. Stuart, elevating her eyebrows. "No wonder you're
tired, after dancing every single dance. I should be dead in your place.
It's all very well to be the belle of the ball, but it's wearing on the
nerves. I'm satisfied to play wallflower and talk to the second officer.
You've no idea how perfectly fascinating he is. His gold braid and
buttons are too cute for anything! What was the count breathing down
your neck?"

"Oh, a lot of foolishness!" laughed Grace.

"Take care," exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, holding up a warning finger. "I saw
Mrs. Phelps glaring at you several times. Besides, Germans make
impossible husbands. The common German is gross, the educated German is
conceited. Both are insufferable. You'd be miserable."

"Don't be alarmed, dear," smiled Grace. "I think no more of the count
than I do of those musicians, not so much. Their music charms and he
bores."

Mr. Brown reappeared, followed by a steward carrying a tray on which
were ices and _petits fours_.

"Oh, how perfectly sweet of you!" exclaimed Mrs. Stuart. "I was dying
for an ice--the heat is positively dreadful."

"It's getting warmer every minute," panted Grace. "I can hardly breathe.
I think we're going to have a storm, don't you, Mr. Brown?"

"Oh--I don't know," replied the officer hesitatingly. "It's always hot
in these latitudes, you know. This is nothing to what you'll get in
Bombay."

"Yes, I know," said Grace, nibbling daintily at the delicious frozen
delicacy, "but there's something weird in the unnatural stillness of the
air. I don't like to s