Mrs. McBride came round in the morning to the private hotel in the Avenue du Bois, to ask the exact time of the dinner-party, she said. She wanted to see for herself how things were going. And the look in Theodora's eyes grieved her. "I am afraid it has gone rather deeply with her," she mused. "Now what can I do?" Theodora was unusually sweet and gentle, and talked brightly of how glad she was for her father's happiness, and of their plans about England; but all the time Jane McBride was conscious that the something which had made her eyes those stars of gracious happiness was changed--instead there was a deep pathos in them, and it made her uncomfortable. "I wish to goodness I had let well alone, and not tried to give her a happy day," she said to herself. Just before leaving, she slipped Hector's letter into Theodora's hand. "Lord Bracondale asked me to give you this, my child," she said, and she kissed her. "And if you will write the answer, will you post it to him to the Ritz." All over Theodora there rushed an emotion when she took the letter. Her hands trembled, and she slipped it into the bodice of her dress. She would not be able to read it yet. She was waiting, all ready dressed, for Josiah to enter any moment, to take their usual walk in the Bois. Then she wondered what would the widow think of her action, slipping it into her dress--but it was done now, and too late to alter. And their eyes met, and she understood that her future step-mother was wide awake and knew a good many things. But the kind woman put her arm round her and kissed her soft cheek. "I want you to be my little daughter, Theodora," she said. "And if you have a heartache, dear, why I have had them, too--and I'd like to comfort you. There!" XV The dinner-party went off with great eclat. Had not all the guests read in the New York _Herald_ that morning of Captain Fitzgerald's good-fortune? He with his usual _savoir-vivre_ had arranged matters to perfection. The company was chosen from among the nicest of his and Mrs. McBride's friends. The invitations had been couched in this form: "I want you to meet my daughter, Mrs. Josiah Brown, my dear lady," or "dear fellow," as the case might be. "She is having a little dinner at Madrid on Monday night, and so hopes you will let me persuade you to come." And the French Count, and Mr. Clutterbuck R. Tubbs and his daughter, Theodora had asked herself. Also the Austrian Prince. The party consisted of about twenty people--and the menu and the Tziganes were as perfect as they could be, while the night might have been a night of July--it happened to be that year when Paris was blessed with a gloriously warm May. Lord Bracondale was late: had not the post come in just as he was starting, and brought him a letter, whose writing, although he had never seen it before, filled him with thrills of joy. Theodora had found time during the day to read and reread his epistle, and to kiss it more than once with a guilty blush.