o mutter something up out of the
dark."

"I'm going to be nothing but a dreamer for a whole week."

"If that means that you will forget chickens, and dress yourself
decently, I shall do what I can to heighten the illusion. Should you
like me to make love to you?" he asked, turning to her with a quickening
interest.

"That might wake me up," said Isabel, politely. "This week is crowded
with parties and things. I am to visit Mrs. Hofer and go to all of them.
You won't see much of me until New Year's eve, when I come home and we
dine at a Bohemian restaurant with Lyster and Paula, and watch the
street crowds after. But I do not look so far ahead. If I am a success
to-night I am going to make believe that I am an old-time belle like
Helena Belmont, or my poor little mother, for that matter. And I shall
feel just like her when I start, for Angelique will pin up my skirts
under a long cloak, and pull carriage boots over my slippers so that
nothing will be spoiled going down those steps. I suppose I can't hope
to be quite such a belle as if I had lived in those less-sophisticated
days, but who knows? And I can forget Rosewater--and Bohemia; I sha'n't
even think of the Stones until New Year's eve; I sent them their
Christmas presents this morning, on purpose. I am going to be frivolous,
coquette, and imagine myself a girl of the old Southern Set, when there
were no new people. And I'm going to make them _think_ I am a great
beauty, whether I am or not. I remember mamma used to say to me:
'Cultivate the beauty air. That often is more effective than beauty
itself. Tiny Montgomery was a beauty according to every known standard,
but she had no dash, and was never looked at when Helena Belmont was in
the room.' So to-night, you'll see me sail into that ballroom as if I
already had the town at my feet. By-the-way--the last time I began to
feel like a real girl again was that night at Arcot--and I did feel
eighteen--triumphant--happy--until I got back and saw Lord Zeal in the
library. I have never forgotten his face."

"Nor have I," said Gwynne, dryly; but he turned pale. "I suppose you
haven't had the least suspicion what he came to tell me that night?"

"I thought to say good-bye without letting you know--it isn't possible
that he told you he intended to kill himself?"

"He told me a good deal more. He had shot Brathland. Murdered him, in
plain English. You may fancy the night I had with him."

Isabel stared up at him, the r