“It was so good of you to come early,” murmured Carmichael’s hostess to him, when her guests for the dinner were beginning to drop in. “Now that you are here I feel a great weight off my mind. This kind of thing is rather a tax when there is no man at the head of the house, don’t you think so? Please manage to slip off and look into the dining-room to see if the lights and ventilation are all right. I arranged the cards myself, so I know that is as it should be. You take in Gertrude, and on your other side I have put the very prettiest young matron of my acquaintance--Mrs. Arden Farnsworth, who married my cousin, don’t you know? I knew your fastidious taste would be pleased by her, and it would be a sort of reward for your leading our cotillon afterward. Here comes another raft of people. Do look at the table, won’t you, and tell my butler if you want any changes made?” Carmichael was accustomed to be deputy sovereign in many fine houses. But he had never felt as grateful for the privilege as now. His plan was executed quickly. So eager was he to effect a transfer of the cards of Eunice and her companion away over to the other side of the broad oval of damask bedecked with pallid orchids in silver vases, silver flagons, and platters of hothouse grapes, he did not think to notice for whom was reserved the place next Miss Ellison, whom he was to take in. “What an escape!” he murmured inwardly, when Mrs. Farnsworth’s cards were safely exchanged for two others, taken at hazard from the opposite side. “Our good hostess will think it was her own carelessness, but I am safe. I wish I had dared face the music, and sit next to my late betrothed. There isn’t a woman of the year that compares with her, and I’d like to force her to notice me again. However, all comes to him who knows how to wait, and Eunice may once again be made to thrill at my words of--” He started guiltily; but it was only Mrs. Ellison’s sleek butler asking at his elbow if all was to the dictator’s fancy. “Very good, Masters, though I see you have taken on a little red-headed cub of a waiter who spilled champagne down my neck at the last Assembly supper. If I were you I wouldn’t have the little brute at any price.” “Beg pardon, Mr. Carmichael, the man shall not be engaged here again,” said Masters, in deep humility. And Ashton, having partially settled his score with a poor menial who had had the temerity to smile when he was laying down the law about the terrapin at a subscription ball, returned to the drawing-room. It was quite filled up now with guests who had come in--the women complacent in gorgeous gowns, the men lagging, beginning to be bored, eager for food, and inclined to take pessimistic views of life by and large. They were waiting for some one, it appeared; and presently, as the door was thrown open, “Mr. and Mrs. Farnsworth and Mr. Oliver” were heralded.