The City was a solemn land of work, but the West End was a fairy realm of luxury and pleasure. Flowers everywhere, stacked up in great piles at the corners of the streets; hanging from window-boxes; massed together in the beds of the parks. The carriages blocked one another in the narrow roads; the balconies were draped with awnings; gorgeously- clad flunkeys stood upon the doorsteps, ushering in long streams of visitors. In the City men worked for money; in the West End they threw it away, carelessly, heedlessly, as if it had been dross. The great hotels sheltered hives of strangers, who admired and criticised, envied and scoffed, and flitted industriously about on the edge of the feast; on the edge, but never actually passing over the border! On the fourth morning of her stay in town, a note, addressed in a strange handwriting, was brought to Cornelia, with her morning tea. She guessed at its authorship before opening the envelope, and reading the name "Rupert Guest," at the end of the letter. "Rupert!" A good name, an appropriate name! Strong and manly, with an old-world echo of dignity in the sound. One could not associate this man with abbreviations or nicknames. At work and at play, at home and abroad, he would remain plain, unabbreviated "Rupert." One doubted if even his own mother ventured on a familiarity! Cornelia read the few lines with lively curiosity:-- "Dear Miss Briskett,--I was disappointed to miss seeing you when I called at your hotel on Saturday. My aunt, Lady Seymour, is giving a reception to-morrow afternoon, and would be delighted to see you and your friends, if you have nothing better on hand. There ought to be some pretty good music. I will call at three o'clock, on the chance that you may care to come.--Yours faithfully, Rupert Guest." Enclosed was a formal card of invitation, dated from Grosvenor Gate, "Miss Briskett and party" written on the corner. Cornelia sat banked up against her pillows, her ruddy locks framing her little face in a glory of rippling curls and waves, her lips pursed in slow reflection. "No-o! I guess Miss Briskett and party would rather not! I don't see the fun of squeezing in among a lot of grandees, who don't want anything of us but just to quiz and stare, and make remarks. If he'd asked me alone, I'd have risked it, just to see how they manage their shows over here; but he's too proper to take me without a chaperon, and ... Well, anyway, the Moffatts are right-down good to me, and I'll have no hand in having them snubbed! Miss Briskett will politely refuse, and the party won't have a chance of accepting, for they won't be told anything about it. I hate a fuss."