Pendleton, who knew a great many girls in different parts of the world, saw nothing disquieting in this Miss Parker. She was merely another girl. Billy Merrill, who was forty, wondered whether there would be champagne or only sauterne besides the cocktail. He had never heard of Pendleton, any more than he had heard of Miss Parker, and he was speculating as to whether he had ever really been in love with Floy Wilkinson, and whether he should venture to propose to her again just after Christmas. Proposing to Floy was a habit with Billy. At the round table the forks for the caviar had been overlooked, and this gave the dinner a bad start. Mrs. Burgess was annoyed, and to cover her annoyance she related an anecdote, at which the guest of honor only smiled wanly. He did not seem happy. He barely tasted his soup, and when Burgess addressed a question to him directly Pendleton did not hear it until it had been repeated. Things were not going well. Then Billy Merrill asked Pendleton if he was related to some Pendletons he knew in St Louis. Almost every one knew that Brown Pendleton belonged to an old Rhode Island family--and Merrill should have known it. Mrs. Burgess was enraged by the fleeting grin she detected on her husband’s face. Web was always so unsympathetic. Burgess was conversing tranquilly with Susie; he never grasped the idea that his wife gave small dinners to encourage general conversation. And this strange girl would not contribute to the conversation; she seemed to be making curious remarks to Webster in a kind of baby talk that made him choke with mirth. “An underbred, uncultivated person!” thought Mrs. Burgess. Mrs. Burgess decided that it would not be amiss to take soundings in the unknown’s past and immediate present. “You don’t usually come back to town so early, do you, Miss Parker?” she asked sweetly. “No; but Newport was rather slow this year--so many of the houses weren’t open.” Mrs. Burgess and her sister exchanged a glance of startled surprise. Brown Pendleton’s thoughts came back from Babylon. Merrill looked at Miss Parker with open-eyed admiration. “Dear old Newport!” Pendleton remarked with feeling. “It has rather lost tone. I’m not surprised that you didn’t care for it.” He examined Susie with deliberation. “The Niedlingers and the Parquetries didn’t show up at all; and the Ossingtons are said to have cut it out for good,” observed Susie. “Yes; I saw Fred Ossington in London in the spring, and he said he had enough. Nice chap, Fred.” “Too bad he had to give up polo,” said Susie, advancing her pickets daringly; “but I fancy his arm will never be fit again.” “He’s going in for balloons. Can you believe it? Amusing fellow! Said he preferred falling on the earth to having it fall on him. And, besides, a balloon couldn’t kick when it had him down.”