nue to see Bertha Kellynch.

She had found out that the host of the evening at the ballet had been
Rupert Denison, and that Madeline Irwin, Bertha and Nigel were the
guests. For more than a week Mary had entirely given up the quarrelsome
and nagging mood, so that Nigel believed she no longer had this absurd
fancy about Bertha. As a matter of fact, for the first time, she had
really been dissembling, had spent a good deal of time and money in
finding out how both Bertha and Nigel spent their time. What little she
had found out had given her an entirely false impression, and that had
resulted in a very desperate determination. She meant to carry it out
this morning. But she wanted to talk a little more to Nigel first.

"Nigel dear, you know what you said the other evening about giving
parties?"

"Yes."

"I've been thinking, perhaps, dear, you're right. I find I've dropped
nearly all your old friends. I think we'd better give one big party--a
reception, I think. Our drawing-room has never been seen yet."

Nigel looked up, really pleased to see her taking a more normal sort of
interest in her existence.

"By Jove! I am glad. That's capital! Yes, of course. To start with we'll
give an At Home, as they call 'em."

"Do you think there ought to be any sort of entertainment, Nigel?"

"Well, just as you like. You said you didn't want music. ... How would
it be to have a band to play the whole evening?"

"Yes, that would do very well. Oh, and, Nigel! I find I've been so
careless and forgotten all the addresses and lost the cards of people
that we used to know. I shall want someone to help me."

"Yes, I suppose Mademoiselle won't do."

"Oh no, she's no use. I shall engage a typewriter to go through the list
with me and send out cards."

"Right-o! good idea."

He was quite surprised and satisfied, and thought to himself how wise it
was of him the other day to ignore the absurd fit of excitement when she
had smashed the vases. Certainly she had been better ever since.

"You'd like me to help you with the list, wouldn't you, dear?" he said
presently.

She gave him a sharp look.

"I suppose we'd better ask everybody we know to this sort of thing," she
said.

"Your mother and I are not on the best of terms, I'm afraid. But you
must be sure to ask her, and we'll make it up."

Nigel thought to himself that really would be only fair, considering
that he had practically and ingeniously invented the quarrel on purpose;