While all this was going on downtown under the direction of the business end of the house of Breen, equally interesting events were taking place uptown under the guidance of its social head. Strict orders had been given by Mrs. Breen the night before that certain dustings and arrangings of furniture should take place, the spacious stairs swept, and the hectic hired palms in their great china pots watered. I say “the night before,” because especial stress was laid upon the fact that on no account whatever were either Mrs. Breen or her daughter Corinne to be disturbed until noon--neither of them having retired until a late hour the night before. So strictly were these orders carried out that all that did reach the younger woman's ear--and this was not until long after mid-day--was a scrap of news which crept upstairs from the breakfast table via Parkins wireless, was caught by Corinne's maid and delivered in manifold with that young lady's coffee and buttered rolls. This when deciphered meant that Jack was not to be at the dance that evening--he having determined instead to spend his time up stairs with a disreputable old fellow whom he had picked up somewhere at a supper the preceding night. Corinne thought over the announcement for a moment, gazed into the egg-shell cup that Hortense was filling from the tiny silver coffee-pot, and a troubled expression crossed her face. “What has come over Jack?” she asked herself. “I never knew him to do anything like this before. Is he angry, I wonder, because I danced with Garry the other night? It WAS his dance, but I didn't think he would care. He has always done everything to please me--until now.” Perhaps the boy was about to slip the slight collar he had worn in her service--one buckled on by him willingly because--though she had not known it--he was a guest in the house. Heretofore she said to herself Jack had been her willing slave, a feather in her cap--going everywhere with her; half the girls were convinced he was in love with her--a theory which she had encouraged. What would they say now? This prospect so disturbed the young woman that she again touched the button, and again Hortense glided in. “Hortense, tell Parkins to let me know the moment Mr. John comes in--and get me my blue tea-gown; I sha'n't go out to-day.” This done she sank back on her pillows.