orld clothes were the insignia of its order, and of late
Hope had shown signs that needed nipping. He must see Hope. Next
week would be time enough, but Hope and Dorothea must both be seen.

VII

AN AFTERNOON CALL

"How do you do? Oh, how do you do, too, Miss Keith?" Miss Robin
French held out a hand first to Mrs. Channing Warrick and then to her
guest and shook their hands with vigor.

"Did you ever know such weather at this season of the year? Even
heat and cold are no longer like they used to be. Everything is
intensified. Indeed I will have some tea! No lemon, and one lump.
One. That's a sick-looking fire, Hope. Good gracious! I just did
catch that vase of flowers! Such a stupid fancy, putting flowers
everywhere for people to knock over. Well, Miss Keith, have you
gotten your breath since you reached New York? Something of a town,
isn't it?"

A gulp of hot tea, taken standing by Miss French, gave pause for a
moment, and Claudia Keith instinctively drew her feet up under her
chair behind the tea-table. To duck her head, as one would dodge an
on-coming deluge, was an impulse, but only with her feet could effort
be made for self-preservation, and as she refilled the cup held out
to her by the breezy visitor she blessed the table which served as a
breastwork of defense. With a hasty movement she put in the one lump
and handed the cup back. "I breathe here very well," she said, and
smiled into the scrutinizing eyes. "New York is very wonderful."

"And very disagreeable eight months out of the twelve." Miss French
put her cup on the table, threw her fur coat on the chair behind her,
sat down, and, taking the cup again, drank its entire contents.
"Pretty good tea, Hope; at most places it's undrinkable." Again she
handed the cup to Claudia. "One more and that's all. I'm cutting
out tea a bit--only twelve cups a day now."

"Twelve!" The exclamation was beyond recall. Claudia's hand stopped
in its pouring. "Twelve!"

"That's what I said. Have taken thirty many times, but the doctor
thought I was getting nerves and called me down. Nerves!" Miss
French's nose went up. "Nerves and nonsense are twin sisters, and
I've no opinion of either. How did you like the opera last night?"

The question being addressed apparently to the cigarette Miss French
took out of a little silver case, lighted, and began to smoke,
neither Mrs. Warrick nor Miss Keith answered, each waiting for the
other; bu