The first few days of Helen's visit were passed chiefly in this wise, and partly because her time was so fully occupied, and partly because of a curiously uncomfortable feeling which she could not shake off, she neglected to let Miss Stuart know that she was in town. On the fourth evening after her arrival they dined at a famous restaurant with an uncle and aunt of Eleanor's and two youths of the _jeunesse dorée_. Helen had felt very shy at first, but this was fast wearing off, and she was talking quite naturally and pleasantly with her companion, when a party of two ladies and half a dozen men entered the room, and selecting a table at a short distance from where Eleanor and her friends were seated, grouped themselves about it; their loud talking and easy assurance attracting universal attention. Helen stared at them a little curiously, and then, as one of the ladies drew off her long tan gloves and let her gaze wander slowly around the room, she gave a sudden start. At the same instant the lady's glance met Helen's, and the recognition was mutual. Miss Stuart gracefully inclined her head, a certain surprise in her eyes, and Helen flushed crimson as she returned the bow. "Why, there is Miss Stuart," exclaimed Eleanor. "I can't imagine why she chooses such a companion as Mrs. Desborough." "And why should Miss Stuart be so particular?" laughed the man at her side. "It would be the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't it?" Eleanor broke in hurriedly, with some totally irrelevant remark, but the words had reached Helen's ears. The color died out of her face, and from that moment her companion found her silent and absent-minded. As they passed out of the restaurant, Miss Stuart bowed smilingly to Eleanor and turned a steady level glance on Helen. "Who were you bowing to?" asked Mrs. Desborough from the other side of the table. "To Miss Hill and her friend Miss Lawrence," Miss Stuart replied a little stiffly. "What?" laughed the man at her side, "not that demure little girl who was dining with Miss Hill?" "The very same. She is a great friend of mine." "Oh, come now, don't tell me that. You two never hit it off together." Miss Stuart frowned. "You will oblige me by not discussing the subject," she returned, in a tone so unlike her usual careless, flippant one that her companion was impressed by it. "I like her infinitely better than any woman I have ever known." "By Jove, I believe you are in earnest!" "Don't believe anything," she answered sharply, and turning to the man on her left plunged at once into a reckless flirtation. CHAPTER XIX. A CABLEGRAM.