I passed Elizabeth Ames' room on my way to my own, and she called to me, "Come in, Miss Sophie." "It's so late," I protested, standing on the threshold. But she was insistent. "Please come," she begged. "You ought to be in bed," I scolded, "getting your beauty sleep." But even as I said it, I knew she didn't need it, for she was as daintily fresh as a rose. Her fair hair hung down in two heavy braids over her white gown. She looked like a lovely child. "Miss Sophie," she said abruptly, when she had put me into a big chair in front of the fire, "tell me about Anne Beaumont and Mr. Dabney----" "What about them?" I asked innocently. "Were they in love with each other--years ago--before she married Mr. Beaumont?" I nodded. "They were engaged, and Anne was very young. She had never seen much of other men, and when Mr. Beaumont came along, with his air of foreign distinction, she was fascinated and broke off her engagement. But she never really cared for Mr. Beaumont----" "And you think Mr. Dabney has--has stayed single for her sake?" "I think so. Yes." "And you think he loves her still----?" "You heard what he said to-night?" "I don't call that love," she cried. "If he cared, he'd tell her. He couldn't help it. It would just come--if he really loved her----" "He thinks that she has never cared--and he isn't an impetuous boy----" "I know--but he's a _man_." She was all aglow. "And if he cared, his heart would say, 'I love you, I love you, I love you,' and then his lips would say it----" "You believe, then, that he doesn't care for her?" "His allegiance is a memory--an old dream--of the girl she was, not of the woman she is. Isn't she older than he, Miss Sophie?" "She is younger," I said gravely. "She seems older--and--it's spoiling his life. He--he won't look at another woman--because in a way he feels bound to her. Some day I'm going to tell him." I stared at her. "Tell him what, Elizabeth?" "That he is throwing away his happiness--that there are other women." She had risen and stood in front of me with her hand on her heart. Her eyes were like stars, and the radiance of youth shone from within and round about her. If Charlemagne should see her in such a mood---- I thought of Anne, dear Anne. "Elizabeth," I said sharply, "if you should tell him that, he would think--that you--cared." She swept out her arms in a charming gesture of surrender. "Well, if he did," she cried, defiantly, "what then?" * * * * * All that night Elizabeth and Anne contended in my dreams, and in the morning, worn to a frazzle, I went down to breakfast, to find that Elizabeth had gone for a ride with Charlemagne, and that Anne was still in bed. I drifted into the library and found there a circle of somewhat fagged-out feminines. The men were riding or on the links.