An hour later Ross McAndrew and Peter Bell, making their entrance to the long drawing-room together, and waiting their turn to advance toward the receiving party, exchanged a series of low-voiced comments, under cover of the general hum of talk. "My word, Pete! Can that be our small girl, standing up there like a young queen? Watch her! I say, watch her!" "I am watching her," said Peter, with great satisfaction. "If you see my eyes drop out, pick ’em up, will you?" "Not that we might n’t have expected it of her. I knew well enough she ’d be sweet and charming--but that little gracious manner--that self-possession--jolly, she’s great!" "Look at Murray! Is he proud of her, or is n’t he?" "Proud as Lucifer. And has a right to be. His mother looks pretty complacent herself. And Olive--she’s stunning, as usual. But our Jane--" The time to go forward had arrived. With head up and shoulders squared Peter led the way. As he passed his host and hostess he was a model of well-trained propriety, but when he reached Jane and Murray his formal manner relaxed, and he grasped each hand with a hearty grip. "You’re a delightful pair," he murmured, "and the sight of you takes me off my feet." "You look perfectly composed, even bored," retorted Murray, laughing, glad to greet a brother who could be relied upon not to say the usual thing. But Jane whispered as she smiled up at him, "I ’m dreadfully frightened, Petey, and I can’t do it well at all." "Keep on being frightened, then," advised her brother. "The result’s perfectly satisfactory, is n’t it, Murray?" "You’re not really frightened?" whispered her husband, taking advantage of a slight lull in his duties to detain Peter. "She does n’t look it, does she?" "Not a bit." "You ’ve only to look at mother," was Murray’s comforting assurance, "to know that she’s entirely satisfied. If she were not--well--she’d look different, that ’s all!" CHAPTER II SHIRLEY HAS GROWN UP As Peter Bell abruptly rounded the corner from Gay Street into Worthington Square he saw coming toward him an attractive young figure in a white frock. He glanced at it and away again; then back, as he came nearer; once more away; then returned to look steadily, positive that his second impression had been the right one, after all. It must be that he knew this girl. If he did, he must give her a chance to recognise him. She not only recognised him, she smiled outright, and stopping short held out her hand. The eyes which were laughing at him were eyes he had surely seen before. Peter’s hat had come off promptly; when she stopped, he stopped. When she held out her hand he took it, and stood staring down into the merry eyes with puzzled interest.