capable of making
her own plans," returned Barry Seymour, letting his long length down into
a chair. "In fact, I was under the impression she'd already made 'em,"
he added with a grin.

"No, they're unsettled at present," returned Kitty. "She's not very keen
about Maryon Rooke now." Kitty was of the opinion that you should never
tell even the best of husbands more than he need know. "So we think she
requires distraction," she pursued firmly.

"And who's the poor devil you've fixed on as a burnt-offering?" enquired
Seymour, tugging reflectively at his big, fair moustache.

"It certainly is a man," conceded Kitty.

"Naturally," agreed her husband amicably.

"But I'm not going to tell you who it is or I know you'd let the cat out
of the bag, and then Nan will be put off at the beginning.
Men"--superbly--"never can keep a secret."

"But they can use their native observation, my dear," retorted Barry
calmly. "And I bet you five to one in gloves that I tell you the name of
the man inside a week."

"In a week it won't matter," pronounced Kitty oracularly. "Give me a
week--and you can have all the time that's left."

"Well, we'd better occupy what's left of this afternoon in getting back
home, old thing," returned her husband. "Or you'll never be dressed in
time for the Granleys' dinner to-night."

Kitty looked at the clock and jumped up quickly.

"Good heavens! I'd forgotten all about them! Penelope, I must fly!
Thursday, then--don't forget. Dinner at eight."

She caught up her furs. There was a faint rustle of feminine garments, a
fleeting whiff of violets in the air, and Kitty had taken her departure,
followed by her husband.

A short time afterwards a taxi pulled up at Edenhall Mansions and Nan
stepped out of it. Penelope sprang up to welcome her as she entered the
sitting-room. She was darning stockings, foolish, pretty, silken
things--Nan's, be it said.

"Well, how did it go?" she asked eagerly.

"The concert? Oh, quite well. I had a very good reception, and this
morning's notices in the newspapers were positively calculated to make me
blush."

There was an odd note of indifference in her voice; the concert did not
appear to interest her much. Penelope pursued her interrogation.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

A curious look of reminiscence came into Nan's eyes.

"Oh, yes. I enjoyed myself. Very much."

"I'm so glad. I thought the Chattertons would look after you well."

"They did.