me, that it took an encounter with Clara to remind her
of her arrangement for the evening. The dance? No, she had given that
up. She had promised Harry to be at home. Clara wanted to know rather
austerely what she intended to do about the dinner. This was dreadful!
Flora had forgotten it completely. Nothing to be done but go, and leave
a message for Harry--apology, and assurance that she would be home
early. She wondered if she were losing her memory.

She appeared to be changing altogether, for the dinner--a merry
one--bored her. What she wanted was to get away from it as soon as
possible for that interesting evening. When she had made the
appointment with Harry she had been excited by the thought that he might
tell her whether he had learned anything from the major that morning in
the matter of the ring. But now she was more engrossed with the idea of
asking about Kerr--whether Harry had really met him--if so, where; and,
finally, why did not Harry want her to mention that Embassy ball?

Primed with these questions, she left immediately after coffee, arriving
at her own red stone portal at ten. But coming in, all a-flutter with
the idea of having kept him waiting when she had so much to ask, she
found her note as she had left it. She questioned Shima. There had been
no message from Mr. Cressy. Her first annoyance was lost in wonder. What
could be the matter? If this was neglect on Harry's part--well, it would
be the first time. But she did not believe it was neglect. He had been
too eager that morning.

She went into the drawing-room--a dull-pink, stupendous chamber--knelt a
moment before the flashing wood fire, then rose, and crossing to the
window, looked anxiously out. She had a flight of fancy toward
accidents, but in that case she would certainly have heard. The French
clock on the mantel rang half-past ten. The sound had hardly died in the
great spaces before she heard the fine snarl of the electric bell.

She restrained an impulse to dash into the hall, and stood impatient in
the middle of the room.

He came in hastily, his lips all ready with words which hesitated at
sight of her.

"Why, you're going out!" he said.

She had forgotten the cloak that still hung from her shoulders.

"No, I've just come in, and all my fine apologies for being out are
wasted. How long do you think Clara'll let you stop at this hour?"

"Clara isn't here," he said.

"Well, then your time is all the shorter." She was nettle