ed that Helen had
kept the date in mind. Besides, the selection of the guests had
apparently been made with an eye to my pleasure.

There was Jack Winston, who had lately married an American heiress,
not because she was an heiress, but because she was adorable; there
was the heiress herself, _nee_ Molly Randolph, whom I had known
through Winston's letters before I saw her lovely, laughing face;
there was Sir Horace Jerveyson, the richest grocer in the world, whom
I suspected Lady Blantock of actually regarding as a human being, and
a suitable successor to the late Sir James. Besides these, there was
only myself, Montagu Lane; and I believed that the dinner had been
arranged with a view to my claims as leading man in the love drama of
which Helen Blantock was leading lady, the other characters in the
scene merely being "on" as our "support." If this idea argued conceit,
I was punished.

It was with the _entree_ that the blow fell, and I had a curious,
impersonal sort of feeling that on every night to come, should I live
for a hundred years, each future _entree_ of each future dinner
would recall the sensation of this moment. Something inside me, that
was myself yet not myself, chuckled at the thought, and made a note to
avoid _entrees_.

We had been asking each others' plans for August. Molly and Jack had
said that they were going to Switzerland to try the new Mercedes,
which had been given as a wedding present to the girl by a school
friend of that name, and of many dollars.

Then, solely to be civil, not because I wanted to know, I asked Sir
Horace Jerveyson what he meant to do. Hardly did I even expect to hear
his answer, for I was looking at Helen, and she was in great beauty.
But the man's words jumped to my ears.

"Miss Blantock and I are going to Scotland," answered the grocer, in
his fat voice, which might have been oiled with his own bacon. I
stared incredulously. "Together," he informatively added.

Lady Blantock laughed nervously. "I suppose we might as well let this
pass for an announcement?" she twittered. "Nell and Sir Horace have
been engaged a whole day. It will be in the _Morning Post_ to-morrow.
Really, it has been so sudden that I feel quite dazed."

It was at this point that I drank to the girl's happiness, looking
straight into her eyes.

I have a dim impression that the grocer, who no doubt mistook her
blush for maiden pride of conquest, essayed to make a speech, and was
tactfully suppres