“Oh—hush,” Ivy cried, ashamed to her core that any girl could be so brazen—for such she considered the other’s avowal of feeling for a man with whom, as Ivy knew, her acquaintance was very slight. It did not shock her at all that Miss Hamilton had come to care for a Chinese—for she, Ivy herself, had ceased to think of Sên King-lo as of a race apart and debarred and even unconsciously thought of him as of one far less alien to her than most of the men she met here. “He is,” Emmeline went desperately on, “and I don’t care who knows it——” “That is evident,” Ivy Gilbert thought. But she said nothing. “—and he’d have been engaged to me now, if it wasn’t for you.” “That is preposterous,” Ivy interrupted indignantly. “It _is_ preposterous,” Emmeline agreed quickly; “for he does not care for you really, and I don’t believe that you care for him. If you do care for him, say so—” Ivy’s lip curled—“and then it will be a fair fight between you and me. But, if you don’t, won’t you give him back to me? I want him. Do you?” “I think you must be mad, and I know you are disgusting,” Ivy rather panted, looking at Emmeline with horror-widened eyes, and moving to go. But Emmeline caught at her wrist with vise-like thin fingers; and short of making a scene in Emma’s drawing-room, where already a few other guests were trickling in, there was no escape. So she sat down again. You must humor lunatics; she had always heard that. Well—she hoped she’d not meet another lunatic soon. “Answer me! You shall! Do you care for King-lo?” “I like Mr. Sên—as I think every one does,” Ivy said coldly. “Only that?” Ivy bent her head, with a look of contempt straight into Emmeline’s eyes. “Oh—he is perfect!” Emmeline bleated. “Will you give him back to me?” “I cannot give what is not mine. And I will not listen to any more insult—not if I have to appeal to my cousin.” “Is he coming here today?” Emmeline pleaded abjectly, a sudden change in tone and manner. Dr. Ray would have read it apprehensively; but Ivy was merely blankly amazed. “I do not know,” she answered truthfully. “Did he give you those flowers you are wearing?” But that was too much—scene or no scene. Miss Gilbert rose again, and this time the other made no attempt to stay her but called after her, “I know he did,” in an overstrained voice that made heads turn and eyebrows raise. Guests came and went, but Emmeline Hamilton stayed. Lady Snow looked at her curiously more than once. Ivy kept out of her way. It was growing late, but half a dozen tardy comers lingered over the blazing logs and tinkling tea-cups, and Emmeline pushed into the group, shivering a little, and drawing about her thin, lightly clad shoulders the long-drooping fur that she had not left in the hall. Her mood had changed again.