The dress she wore, green trimmed with a design of small, pink chiffon rosebuds and leaves, was the realized dream of a great Parisian _faiseur_. It had been Mrs. Janney’s who, considering it too youthful, had given it to her Secretary. Its vivid hue was singularly becoming, lending a warm whiteness to the girl’s pale skin, bringing out the rich darkness of her burnished hair. Her bare neck was as smooth as curds, not a bone rippled its gracious contours; the little rosebuds and leaves that edged the corsage looked like a garland painted on ivory. It was a good dinner, but it was not as jolly as Dick Ferguson’s dinners usually were. Before it was over the rain stopped and a full moon shone through the dining room windows. Suzanne had hoped she and Dick could saunter off into the rose garden and have that talk about Chapman, but he showed no desire to do so. They sat about in long chairs on the balcony and she had to listen to Ham Lorimer’s opinions on the war. As soon as the motor came she wanted to go—she was tired, she had a headache. It was early, only a quarter past ten, and the night was now superb, the sky a clear, starless blue with the great moon queening it alone. Mr. Janney would have liked to linger—he always enjoyed an evening with Dick—but she was petulantly perverse, and they moved to the waiting car with Ferguson in attendance. Mrs. Janney settled herself in the back seat, Suzanne, lifting shimmering skirts, prepared to follow, while Miss Maitland waited humbly to take what room was left among their assembled knees. She was close to Ferguson who was helping Suzanne in, and looking up at the sky murmured low to herself: "What a glorious night!" Ferguson heard her and dropped Suzanne’s arm. "Isn’t it? Too good to waste. Does any one want to walk back to Grasslands?" Suzanne, one foot on the step, stopped and turned to him. Her lips opened to speak, and then she saw the back of his head and heard him address Esther: "How about it, Miss Maitland? You’re a walker, and it’s only a step by the wood path. We can be there almost as soon as the car." "You’ll get wet," said Mrs. Janney, "the woods will be dripping." Mr. Janney remembered his youth and egged them on: "Only underfoot and they can change their shoes. Dick’s right—it’s too good to waste. I’d go myself but I’m afraid of my rheumatism. Hurry up, Suzanne, and get in. They want to start." Miss Maitland said she wasn’t afraid of the wet and that it would not hurt her slippers. Suzanne entered the car and sunk into her corner. As it rolled away Mr. and Mrs. Janney looked back at the two figures in the moonlight and waved good-byes. Suzanne sat motionless; all the way home she said nothing. CHAPTER IV—THE CIGAR BAND