Mr. Maxwell had done nothing that any gentleman might not have done for a casual friend of his mother’s. When she began to sift the past few weeks in her thoughts, his attentions had mainly been spent on her brothers. A few roses, and this invitation this afternoon. Nothing that any sensible girl would think a thing of. She was a fool, that was all there was of it, an everlasting fool, and now she must rouse herself somehow from this ghastly sinking feeling that had come over her and keep him from reading her very thoughts. He must never suspect her unwomanliness. He must never know how she had misconstrued his kindness. Oh, if she could only get away into the cool and dark for a minute and lie down and close her eyes, she could get hold of herself. But that was out of the question. She must sit here and smile in the sun with the gleam of scarlet across the courts and never, never let him suspect. He was all right, of course he was, all right and fine, and he doubtless thought that she too knew all about his fiancee, only he could not speak about it now because the lady had placed her commands upon him for his mother’s sake. How nice to honor his mother! A breath of a sigh escaped her and she straightened up and tried to look bright and interesting. “You _are_ tired!” he said turning to look into her eyes. “I don’t believe this is going to be a restful thing for you at all. Wouldn’t you rather get out of here and just take a ride or something—in the Park perhaps?” “Oh, no _indeed_!” said Cornelia quickly sitting up very straight and trying to shake off the effects of the shock she had suffered, “I’ve always wanted to see a great tournament, and I’ve never had the opportunity. Now tell me all the things I need to know please to be an intelligent witness.” He began telling her about the two world famous men who were to play, about their good points and their weak ones, and to give a scientific treatise on certain kinds of services and returns, and she gave strict attention and asked intelligent questions, and was getting on very well, keeping her own private thoughts utterly in the background, when suddenly he said: “Do you see that lady in white just directly opposite us? White with scarlet trimmings. I wish you would look at her a moment. Here, take the field glasses. Sometime I am going to tell you about her.” Cornelia tried to steady her hand as she adjusted the glasses to her eyes, and to steady her lips for a question: “Is she—a—_friend_?” “I hardly think you’d call it that—_any more_!” he answered in a curiously hard tone. But Cornelia was too preoccupied to notice. “Shall we—meet her?” she asked after studying the exquisite doll face across the distance, and wondering if it really were as wonderfully perfect close at hand. Wondering too why she seemed to suddenly feel disappointed in the man beside her if this was his choice of a wife.