nd she with an angry dignity that
rested incongruously on her childish prettiness.

"Will you please go down and tell Mr. Pfingst that I am not coming to his
party?" she asked, with the obvious intention of getting rid of him.

"Why aren't you?"

"Because I don't like him."

"Neither do I. But what has that to do with it? Estelle Linton will take
him off our hands."

"I don't care for Miss Linton, either. If I had known----"

"Oh, come! Haven't we got past that?" scoffed Harold, sitting astride a
chair and looking at her quizzically. "Nobody pays any attention to
Estelle's numerous little affairs. I'd as soon think of criticizing a
Watteau lady on an ivory fan!"

"You can probably catch Mr. Pfingst in the dining-room if you go down at
once," suggested Eleanor pointedly.

"But I've no intention of going down at once. Eleanor, why do you play
with me like this? Can't you see that this can't go on? I've been
patient, God knows. For two months I've done nothing but advance your
interests, put you forward in every conceivable way. And what have I got?
The merest civility! Do you suppose it's pleasant for me to know that
everybody in the company is whispering about my infatuation for you and
your indifference to me? The maddening part of it is that I know
perfectly well you are _not_ indifferent. You are in love with me. You
always have been. You'd have married me last fall if some busybody hadn't
filled your ears with scandal. Confess, wouldn't you?"

"Yes; but----"

"I knew it! And you are going to marry me now. You can do anything you
want, have anything you want. I'll put you at the head of your own
company; I'll take you over to London. I'll do anything under heaven but
give you up."

He rose suddenly and went toward her, catching her bare arm and trying to
draw her toward him; but she struggled from his embrace.

"Let me go!" she cried furiously. "If you don't leave the room instantly,
I will! There's Papa Claude now. Let me pass!"

It was not Papa Claude, however, to whom she opened the door. It was
Estelle Linton, smartly attired for the day's expedition, and exhibiting
all the compensating charms with which she sought to atone for her lack
of brains and morals. With a glance of sophisticated comprehension she
took in the disordered room, the perturbed young people, the unfinished
breakfast-tray; then she burst into a gay little laugh.

"Ten thousand pardons!" she cried, backing away from the door in