And Silvette found her there alone on her knees beside the window, partly undressed, her head buried in her arms, the brown locks clustering against her pale and tear-stained face. "Diana!" she exclaimed softly. "What is the matter, child?" [Illustration: "’Diana!’ she exclaimed softly."] The girl got up wearily, keeping her face out of the flood of light from the electric brackets. "Nothing much," she said; "I’ve only been very horrid to Jim." "I thought you were going to be kinder," said Silvette, astonished. "I have been; but he doesn’t know it." Her sister stood silent, looking at her with sorrowful eyes. "Don’t sympathize with me; I—I can’t bear it, Silvie." "No—if you don’t wish it, dear.... Shall I fix your bath? ... And—_who_ do you suppose is downstairs?" Diana looked up inquiringly. "The man you flirted with so outrageously at Keno!" "Which?" asked Diana naïvely. "Billy Inwood!" Diana brightened a little. "At least," she said with sad satisfaction, "I can occupy my mind with him for a while. He got away before he was thoroughly disciplined. _I_ believe there was another girl somewhere.... I think I’ll obliterate her—unless I approve of her. There’s the making of a man in that boy, Silvette." But she decided otherwise a few moments before dinner was announced, when Inwood made his appearance in the drawing-room and greeted his hostess. Then, catching sight of her, he came hastily toward her with both hands outstretched. "Diana!" he exclaimed; "_isn’t_ this jolly! I’m terribly glad to see you again... And Silvette! Oh, this is simply too delightful! I——" Speech stopped, perhaps froze on his lips; then he turned fiery red as he stepped forward to greet Mrs. Wemyss. A year ago she had been a comparatively slim and pretty divorcée; to-day even the embarrassing opulence and prodigality of her charms had not altered the doll-like perfection of her features. He knew her instantly, and, in his brain, chaos menaced him. "How do you do," he said; "this is most delightful and surprising. Lilly——" "Charming," murmured Mrs. Wemyss; and, under her smile, she lowered her voice: "I’m Lilly Wemyss; I’ve taken my maiden name. Don’t forget, and call me Mrs. Atherstane." He nodded, the fixed smile imprinted on his features; and it remained there as they stood in conversation until dinner was announced. He took in Christine. The girl’s arm rested lightly as a feather on his sleeve. During dinner she talked to him pleasantly, but without animation; and, somehow, all seemed to go wrong with him, for he found scarcely anything to say to Christine—anything that was not trite and banal. And his haunted eyes reverted again and again to Mrs. Wemyss. "Oh, Lord!" he thought, "what a horrible mess; and is Lilly going to expect me to—to——"