much.

He reflected, too, upon the changes in himself, one of the greatest
being his recognition of the sound virtues of Dermott McDermott. There
had been times when circumvention by this son of Erin had been so
masterly, so deft, so unexpected that Frank had felt like extending a
congratulating hand. Once he had actually laughed aloud, at a board
meeting, over an election which McDermott had dictated. But these things
assumed a new importance when he thought of Dermott's love for Katrine,
for the queer Celtic genius was singularly unattuned to failure in
anything, and never, in any matter save that of the railroad, could
Frank claim a complete victory. And those who believed the railroad
issue still unsettled were not wanting.

Soon after the Paris visit, Frank heard, through Anne Lennox, of the
death of Madame de Nemours. The letter reiterated, as well, that Katrine
had sung to England's good old Queen. Before this confirmation Frank had
doubted this statement as one of the outputs of Dermott's oriental
imagination.

In August, having had no letter from Katrine or his mother for over a
month, he accepted Nick van Rensselaer's invitation to Waring-on-the-Sea,
with no knowledge whatever as to the other members of the party. As he
was driven up the carriageway, under great New England pines, and saw
the shining sea and the far-off Magnolia hills, he thought, for the
first time, of other guests who would probably be there, and recalled
with annoyance how one meets the same people everywhere. After he had
dressed for dinner, he stood looking from the balcony of his room into
the twilight thinking of Katrine, and wondering why her monthly letter
had not arrived.

At the foot of the stairs he encountered Sally Porter, whom he had not
met since she had been his mother's guest at Ravenel, three years
before.

"Why, Frank Ravenel!" she cried, at sight of him. "I thought you were
in--where did we hear he was, mother?"

"Several places, my dear," her mother responded, placidly.

"Java, Japan, or Jupiter," Nick van Rensselaer broke in, coming forward
with outstretched hand. "How are you, old man!"

As Frank returned the grip he looked over Nick's shoulder to a merry
group which stood near the entrance to the music-room, and his amazed
eyes rested upon Katrine Dulany. A new Katrine, yet still the old. She
wore white lace. Her black hair was parted and rippled over the ears
into a low coil. There was even more the look of