"A great big lozenge on my carriage," laughed Theodora. "I used to think," she added more gravely, "that Englishmen were pachyderms, but upon my word they are the spooniest set--Anne, what are you blushing for?" "I was thinking of--of--," answered Anne, turning a yet more fiery red. "Of William McBean," said Theodora, with cruel mirth, "you know you were. You're always thinking of William McBean." "My dear girl," remarked Mrs. Wodehouse plaintively to Anne, "with your opportunities and nice looks, and money--you might look higher than a lieutenant in a marching regiment. It's a sacrifice, dear--a sacrifice which I--" "Mrs. Wodehouse," cried Anne, rising and looking at Mrs. Wodehouse quite savagely, "I insist that you shall not mention this matter again. I'm--I'm not called upon to justify myself to you--but I think when a girl marries a man and a gentleman--even if he is poor--she does herself honor, and although we've got money ourselves, I feel the greatest respect for a poor gentleman--and if he is so disinterested that he almost forces her to make the offer herself, it's no sacrifice--" If a meek and much enduring sheep had turned on a hungry wolf, Mrs. Wodehouse could not have been more surprised than at Anne's spirit. But Theodora, who rarely permitted Anne to finish a sentence, here broke in: "No, it _isn't_ a sacrifice--even if he _has_ a red head and lisps dreadfully. Fortunately, I don't want to marry William McBean myself. I want--I don't know what I want. Not money--I have plenty of that." "I think," continued Anne quite boldly, "that American girls are seldom mercenary. We have our faults, but that's not one of--" "Yes," said Theodora, with an air of great magnanimity, marching up and down the room, "we have our faults, but at least we are not mercenary, or designing, or mean, or anything of that sort. Nor are we headstrong like English girls are sometimes--or ungenerous toward each other, or given to gossip. We make ourselves agreeable abroad, but that does not prevent our making our homes little paradises for those we love--and we are not a bit conceited." Anne attempted a mild suggestion that Theo hadn't left any faults at all with which American girls could be justly charged, but it was ruthlessly swept away in a hurricane of merry talk and laughter from Theodora about the ball, her gown, and all the cheerful, costly things that made up the life of Josiah C. March's lucky daughter. Mrs. Wodehouse left, arranging to come to their house on the evening of the ball, whence they would all go in the March's carriage and she would remain the rest of the night at Prince's Gate. * * * * *