ntatiously on the
top step and they did not return to me till she had vanished with
her companions behind the long plush curtain which partly veiled the
entrance. By this time he had forgotten my words, if he had ever heard
them and it was with the forced animation of one whose thoughts are
elsewhere that he finally returned to the old plea:

When would I marry him? If he could offer me a home in a month--and he
would know by to-morrow if he could do so--would I come to him then? He
would not say in a week; that was perhaps to soon; but in a month? Would
I not promise to be his in a month?

What I answered I scarcely recall. His eyes had stolen back to the
alcove and mine had followed them. The gentlemen who had accompanied
the lady inside were coming out again, but others were advancing to take
their places, and soon she was engaged in holding a regular court in
this favored retreat.

Why should this interest me? Why should I notice her or look that way
at all? Because Mr. Durand did? Possibly. I remember that for all his
ardent love-making, I felt a little piqued that he should divide his
attentions in this way. Perhaps I thought that for this evening, at
least, he might have been blind to a mere coquette's fascinations.

I was thus doubly engaged in listening to my lover's words and in
watching the various gentlemen who went up and down the steps, when a
former partner advanced and reminded me that I had promised him a waltz.
Loath to leave Mr. Durand, yet seeing no way of excusing myself to Mr.
Fox, I cast an appealing glance at the former and was greatly chagrined
to find him already on his feet.

"Enjoy your dance," he cried; "I have a word to say to Mrs.
Fairbrother," and was gone before my new partner had taken me on his
arm.

Was Mrs. Fairbrother the lady with the diamond? Yes; as I turned to
enter the parlor with my partner, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Durand's
tall figure just disappearing from the step behind the sage-green
curtains.

"Who is Mrs. Fairbrother?" I inquired of Mr. Fox at the end of the
dance.

Mr. Fox, who is one of society's perennial beaux, knows everybody.

"She is--well, she was Abner Fairbrother's wife. You know Fairbrother,
the millionaire who built that curious structure on Eighty-sixth Street.
At present they are living apart--an amicable understanding, I believe.
Her diamond makes her conspicuous. It is one of the most remarkable
stones in New York, perhaps in the United Sta