"_Une mariage de reclame_," observed Miss Van Arsdale. "Is it that that constitutes his charm for you?" Miss Van Arsdale's smile was still instinct with mockery, but there had crept into it a quality of indulgence. "No," answered the girl. Her face became thoughtful and serious. "It's something else. He--he carried me off my feet from the moment I met him. He was drunk, too, that first time. I don't believe I've ever seen him cold sober. But it's a joyous kind of intoxication; vine-leaves and Bacchus and that sort of thing 'weave a circle 'round him thrice'--_you_ know. It _is_ honey-dew and the milk of Paradise to him." She laughed nervously. "And charm! It's in the very air about him. He can make me follow his lead like a little curly poodle when I'm with him." "Were you engaged to Delavan Eyre when you met him?" "Oh, engaged!" returned the girl fretfully. "There was never more than a sort of understanding. A _mariage de convenance_ on both sides, if it ever came off. I _am_ fond of Del, too. But he was South, and the other came like a whirlwind, and I'm--I'm queer about some things," she went on half shamefacedly. "I suppose I'm awfully susceptible to physical impressions. Are all girls that way? Or is that gross and--and underbred?" "It's part of us, I expect; but we're not all so honest with ourselves. So you decided to throw over Mr. Eyre and marry your Briton." "Well--yes. The new British Ambassador, who arrives from Japan next week, is Carty's uncle, and we were going to make him stage-manage the wedding, you see. A sort of officially certified elopement." "More advertisement!" said Miss Van Arsdale coldly. "Really, Miss Welland, if marriage seems to you nothing more than an opportunity to create a newspaper sensation I cannot congratulate you on your prospects." This time her tone stung. Io Welland's eyes became sullen. But her voice was almost caressingly amiable as she said: "Tastes differ. It is, I believe, possible to create a sensation in New York society without any newspaper publicity, and without at all meaning or wishing to. At least, it was, fifteen years ago; so I'm told." Camilla Van Arsdale's face was white and lifeless and still, as she turned it toward the girl. "You must have been a very precocious five-year-old," she said steadily. "All the Olneys are precocious. My mother was an Olney, a first cousin of Mrs. Willis Enderby, you know." "Yes; I remember now." The malicious smile on the girl's delicate lips faded. "I wish I, hadn't said that," she cried impulsively. "I hate Cousin Mabel. I always have hated her. She's a cat. And I think the way she, acted in--in the--the--well, about Judge Enderby and--". "Please!" Miss Van Arsdale's tone was peremptory. "Here is my place." She indicated a clearing with a little nest of a camp in it. "Shall I go back?" asked Io remorsefully. "No."