, when it poured over London and the rest of
England in the unbridled rage of drunken victory."

He so spoke because beneath his outward coldness he himself felt a
secret rage against this lightness which, as he saw things, had its
parallel in another order of trivial unawareness in more important
places and larger brains. Feather started and drew somewhat nearer to
him.

"How hideous! What do you mean! Where was the party?" she asked.

"It was a small dance given by the Duchess, very kindly, for Robin," he
answered.

"For Robin!" with open eyes whose incredulity held irritation. "The old
Duchess giving parties to her 'useful companion' girl! What nonsense!
Who was there?" sharply.

"The young fellows who would be first called on if there was war. And
the girls who are their relatives. Halwyn was there--and young Dormer
and Layton--they are all in the army. The cannon balls would be for them
as well as for the Tommies of their regiments. They are spirited lads
who wouldn't slink behind. They'd face things."

Feather had already forgotten her moment's shock in another thought.

"And they were invited to meet Robin! Did they dance with her? Did she
dance much? Or did she sit and stare and say nothing? What did she
wear?"

"She looked like a very young white rose. She danced continually. There
was always a little mob about her when the music stopped. I do not think
she sat at all, and it was the young men who stared. The only dance she
missed--Kathryn told her grandmother--was the one she sat out in the
conservatory with Donal Muir."

At this Feather's high, thin little laugh broke forth.

"He turned up there? Donal Muir!" She struck her hands lightly together.
"It's too good to be true!"

"Why is it too good to be true?" he inquired without enthusiasm.

"Oh, don't you see? After all his mother's airs and graces and running
away with him when they were a pair of babies--as if Robin had the
plague. I was the plague--and so were you. And here the old Duchess
throws them headlong at each other--in all their full bloom--into each
other's arms. I did not do it. You didn't. It was the stuffiest old
female grandee in London, who wouldn't let _me_ sweep her front
door-steps for her--because I'm an impropriety."

She asked a dozen questions, was quite humorous over the picture she
drew of Mrs. Muir's consternation at the peril her one ewe lamb had been
led into by her highly revered friend.

"A frightfully good-lo