en only of recent seasons. She
was present again now, all unexpectedly--he had heard of her having
at last, left alone after successive deaths and with scant resources,
sought economic salvation in Europe, the promised land of American
thrift--she was present as this almost ancient and this oddly
unassertive little rotund figure whom one seemed no more obliged to
address than if she had been a black satin ottoman "treated" with
buttons and gimp; a class of object as to which the policy of blindness
was imperative. He felt the need of some explanatory plea, and before he
could think had uttered one at Mrs. Worthingham's expense. "Why, you see
we weren't introduced----!"

"No--but I didn't suppose I should have to be named to you."

"Well, my dear woman, you haven't--do me that justice!" He could at
least make this point. "I felt all the while--!" However, it would have
taken him long to say what he had been feeling; and he was aware now of
the pretty projected light of Mrs. Worthingham's wonder. She looked as
if, out for a walk with her, he had put her to the inconvenience of his
stopping to speak to a strange woman in the street.

"I never supposed you knew her!"--it was to him his hostess excused
herself.

This made Miss Rasch spring up, distinctly flushed, distinctly strange
to behold, but not vulgarly nettled--Cornelia was incapable of that;
only rather funnily bridling and laughing, only showing that this was
all she had waited for, only saying just the right thing, the thing
she could make so clearly a jest. "Of course if you _had_ you'd have
presented him."

Mrs. Worthingham looked while answering at White-Mason. "I didn't want
you to go--which you see you do as soon as he speaks to you. But I never
dreamed----!"

"That there was anything between us? Ah, there are no end of things!"
He, on his side, though addressing the younger and prettier woman,
looked at his fellow-guest; to whom he even continued: "When did you get
back? May I come and see you the very first thing?"

Cornelia gasped and wriggled--she practically giggled; she had
lost every atom of her little old, her little young, though always
unaccountable prettiness, which used to peep so, on the bare chance of
a shot, from behind indefensible features, that it almost made watching
her a form of sport. He had heard vaguely of her, it came back to
him (for there had been no letters; their later acquaintance, thank
goodness, hadn't involved that) as