it had been dross. The great
hotels sheltered hives of strangers, who admired and criticised, envied
and scoffed, and flitted industriously about on the edge of the feast;
on the edge, but never actually passing over the border!

On the fourth morning of her stay in town, a note, addressed in a
strange handwriting, was brought to Cornelia, with her morning tea. She
guessed at its authorship before opening the envelope, and reading the
name "Rupert Guest," at the end of the letter. "Rupert!" A good name,
an appropriate name! Strong and manly, with an old-world echo of
dignity in the sound. One could not associate this man with
abbreviations or nicknames. At work and at play, at home and abroad, he
would remain plain, unabbreviated "Rupert." One doubted if even his own
mother ventured on a familiarity! Cornelia read the few lines with
lively curiosity:--

"Dear Miss Briskett,--I was disappointed to miss seeing you when I
called at your hotel on Saturday. My aunt, Lady Seymour, is giving a
reception to-morrow afternoon, and would be delighted to see you and
your friends, if you have nothing better on hand. There ought to be
some pretty good music. I will call at three o'clock, on the chance
that you may care to come.--Yours faithfully, Rupert Guest."

Enclosed was a formal card of invitation, dated from Grosvenor Gate,
"Miss Briskett and party" written on the corner.

Cornelia sat banked up against her pillows, her ruddy locks framing her
little face in a glory of rippling curls and waves, her lips pursed in
slow reflection.

"No-o! I guess Miss Briskett and party would rather not! I don't see
the fun of squeezing in among a lot of grandees, who don't want anything
of us but just to quiz and stare, and make remarks. If he'd asked me
alone, I'd have risked it, just to see how they manage their shows over
here; but he's too proper to take me without a chaperon, and ... Well,
anyway, the Moffatts are right-down good to me, and I'll have no hand in
having them snubbed! Miss Briskett will politely refuse, and the party
won't have a chance of accepting, for they won't be told anything about
it. I hate a fuss."

Cornelia went downstairs, deciding to write a letter before going out,
and post it to the club; but during breakfast Mrs Moffatt announced
with profuse apologies that she and her husband were obliged to devote
the afternoon to visiting a friend living at some distance from town,
and m