It was the last Tuesday in November, and Mrs. Hardenburgh was giving the first of her usual series of at-homes. An inveterate lion hunter was this clever woman of sixty-odd summers, whose hair was as thick and golden as a débutante’s, and whose complexion as pink and white. This afternoon she was in a particularly complacent mood, for she had arranged a piquant double attraction for her guests. When, however, by six o’clock, both attractions had failed to materialize, the faintest suggestion of a frown appeared on her remarkably smooth brow. Five minutes later the appearance of a newcomer had dispelled it, and the hostess was her humorous, smiling self. The newcomer was Jane--Jane in a gown every line of which spoke Paris, in a dream of a hat that sat on her proud little head like a coronet; Jane, in short, in a perfect get-up and in radiant health and spirits. Personally, we’d prefer to set it down that she looked pale, distrait; that “concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,” etc.; but it would not be true. Whatever the suffering within--and there was a rather deep, intent look about the eyes--Mrs. De Mille presented an unconquered, nay, a self-satisfied, front to this little New York world, and was looking her very best. As she made her way slowly down the long room to where her hostess stood, it occurred to her that she was causing something of a sensation. At first she modestly ascribed it to the fact that she had been away for six months, and that this was her first public appearance since her return. It dawned upon her presently, however, that the rooms were filled with strangers, principally, and as the interest deepened rather than lessened with her slow advance, she was forced to acknowledge to herself that something beside her lengthened absence was responsible for the attention she was receiving. The more puzzled she grew, the more confidently she carried herself, and when a very young bud in a very high treble agitatedly remarked to a _blasé_ youth: “She’s not a bit disappointing, is she?” it expressed in words the verdict of the rooms. After greeting Mrs. Hardenburgh, the first familiar face Jane encountered was Mr. Scott’s. “So you’ve gone and gotten yourself engaged, faithless one?” she observed, reproachfully, after they had shaken hands. “Oh, I say, Jane----” he began, in exactly the same tone with which he was wont, in the past, to preface one of his numerous proposals. Jane regarded him with mock horror. “Billie, Billie, don’t tell me you are going to propose!” she exclaimed, disapprovingly. “One rather expects proposals from the married men nowadays, but from newly engaged ones, fie! fie!” Mr. Scott colored high. “You can’t think how the sight of you makes my heart beat,” he said, agitatedly. “Nonsense!” retorted Jane, snubbingly. “Point out your girl instantly.”