d her little party across the staircase lobby, she
managed to mutter into her niece's ear: "I want you to take on Miss
Burnaby for me, Bubbles--I'm anxious to make friends with Helen
Brabazon."

There are times when what one must call for want of a better term the
social rites of existence interfere most unwarrantably with the
elemental happenings of life. But on this first evening at Wyndfell Hall
the coming of coffee and of liqueurs proved a welcome diversion. Miss
Burnaby smiled a pleased smile as she sipped the Benedictine which a
footman had poured into a tall green-and-gold Bohemian liqueur-glass for
her. She, at any rate, was enjoying her visit. And so, Blanche Farrow
decided, was the old lady's niece, for "How beautiful and perfect
everything is!" exclaimed the girl; and indeed the room in which they
now found themselves was singularly charming.

But somehow Miss Farrow felt that the speaker was not alluding so much
to the room, as to the way everything was being done, and her heart
warmed to the girl, for she was really anxious that Lionel's first party
should be a success.

When they had settled themselves in the lovely, delicately
austere-looking white parlour, as it was called, which again suggested
to Blanche Farrow the atmosphere of Jane Austen's "Emma," Bubbles
dutifully sat herself down by Miss Burnaby. Soon she was talking to that
lady in a way which at once fascinated and rather frightened her
listener. Bubbles had a very pretty manner to old people. It was
caressing, deferential, half-humorously protecting. She liked to shock
and soothe them by turns; and they generally yielded themselves gladly,
after a little struggle, both to the shocking and to the soothing.

Miss Farrow and Helen Brabazon sat down at the further end of the
delightful, gladsome-looking room. It was hung with a delicate, faded
Chinese paper; and against the walls stood a few pieces of fine white
lacquer furniture. The chairs were painted--some French, some
Heppelwhite. Over the low mantelpiece was framed a long, narrow piece of
exquisite embroidery.

"I suppose you have often stayed here?" began Miss Farrow civilly.

Helen Brabazon looked at her, surprised. "I've never been here before!"
she exclaimed. "How could I have been? I've only known Mr. Varick for,
let me see,"--she hesitated--"a very little over a year."

"But you were a great friend of his wife's--at least so I understood?"

Blanche concealed, successfully, her