A week later St. Quentin dropped in at Mrs. Lee’s for a cup of tea. He would have preferred to have Carol brew it, for she had not only learned how in Russia, but had brought with her a brand of tea which, to St. Quentin’s mind, was not to be ignored for mere conversation, and once drunk, was not to be forgotten. When Mrs. Lee was out, Carol dispensed this tea, but when Addie was in her own house, she was mistress of it in more ways than tea-drinking. St. Quentin found several people there for whom he had little use, so he sat silent until they had gone and no one except Kate, Adelaide, and Carol were left. Carol was wearing a pale blue velvet gown trimmed with sable and a picture hat with a long white ostrich plume which swept her shoulder. Both St. Quentin and Kate plied her with admiring comments until Addie could bear it no longer, and excused herself with unnatural abruptness. "There are more ways than one of killing a cat," murmured St. Quentin, stooping for Kate’s immense ermine muff, which she had dropped for the third time, "than by choking it to death with cream." Kate laughed delightedly. Carolina turned from the doorway. "Don’t go, either of you," she said. "I am only going for some tea. Noel, ring for some more hot water, will you?" "I wonder how it would be," said Kate, dreamily, "to be born without any relations at all! Could one manage to be happy, do you think?" "Carol couldn’t. She is very fond of Sherman." "I wouldn’t be fond of any brother who had lost all his own fortune and mine and was millions in debt besides. One couldn’t love a fool, you know." "I know. But do you remember what Carol said about wanting to be poor?" "Of course I remember!" said Kate, "but I d-didn’t believe her then and I d-don’t believe her now. Carol was s-simply lying--that’s the answer to that!" "Lying about what?" asked Carolina, reëntering, with a square box in her hand. The box was of old silver, heavily carved and set with turquoise. "Lying about being g-glad Sherman has lost all your money. Of course you were lying, w-weren’t you? No-nobody but a raving maniac could be glad to be p-poor." "Then I am a raving maniac," said Carolina, pouring the delicately brewed tea carefully into the tall, slender glasses. "Lemon or rum, Kate?" "W-which will I like best? I--I’ve had four cups already to-day." "Then you’d better have rum. It makes you sleep when you have had too much tea." "Lemon for me, please," said St. Quentin. "I remembered that," said Carolina, smiling. "And three lumps." "P-put in some m-more rum, Carol. I can’t taste it." "What a Philistine!" cried St. Quentin. "To insult such tea with rum." "It’s quite g-good," murmured Kate, with her glass to her lips. "When y-you have enough of it."