The party broke up. By ones and twos luxuriously dressed little figures went down the great staircase, where Grayson stood in the hall and the footman on the doorstep signaled to the waiting cars. Mademoiselle, watching from a point of vantage in the upper hall, felt a sense of comfort and well-being after they had all gone. This was as it should be. Lily would take up life again where she had left it off, and all would be well. It was now the sixth day, and she had not yet carried out that absurd idea of asking Ellen's friend to dinner. Lily was, however, at that exact moment in process of carrying it out. “Telephone for you, Mr. Cameron.” “Thanks. Coming,” sang out Willy Cameron. Edith Boyd sauntered toward his doorway. “It's a lady.” “Woman,” corrected Willy Cameron. “The word 'lady' is now obsolete, since your sex has entered the economic world.” He put on his coat. “I said 'lady' and that's what I mean,” said Edith. “'May I speak to Mr. Cameron?'” she mimicked. “Regular Newport accent.” Suddenly Willy Cameron went rather pale. If it should be Lily Cardew--but then of course it wouldn't be. She had been home for six days, and if she had meant to call-- “Hello,” he said. It was Lily. Something that had been like a band around his heart suddenly loosened, to fasten about his throat. His voice sounded strangled and strange. “Why, yes,” he said, in the unfamiliar voice. “I'd like to come, of course.” Edith Boyd watched and listened, with a slightly strained look in her eyes. “To dinner? But--I don't think I'd better come to dinner.” “Why not, Willy?” Mr. William Wallace Cameron glanced around. There was no one about save Miss Boyd, who was polishing the nails of one hand on the palm of the other. “May I come in a business suit?” “Why, of course. Why not?” “I didn't know,” said Willy Cameron. “I didn't know what your people would think. That's all. To-morrow at eight, then. Thanks.” He hung up the receiver and walked to the door, where he stood looking out and seeing nothing. She had not forgotten. He was going to see her. Instead of standing across the street by the park fence, waiting for a glimpse of her which never came, he was to sit in the room with her. There would be--eight from eleven was three--three hours of her. What a wonderful day it was! Spring was surely near. He would like to be able to go and pick up Jinx, and then take a long walk through the park. He needed movement. He needed to walk off his excitement or he felt that he might burst with it. “Eight o'clock!” said Edith. “I wish you joy, waiting until eight for supper.” He had to come back a long, long way to her. “'May I come in a business suit?'” she mimicked him. “My evening clothes have not arrived yet. My valet's bringing them up to town to-morrow.” Even through the radiant happiness that surrounded him like a mist, he caught the bitterness under her raillery. It puzzled him. “It's a young lady I knew at camp. I was in an army camp, you know.”