“Why didn’t you bring him to-night?” “I wanted to,” Carrie Cora replied, breathlessly. “I wanted him to meet you. I’ve told him so much about you, and what a help you’ve been to me. But I was afraid of ma. She was furious when he came to the hotel. He sent his card up, just as bold, and ma didn’t want to let me go down to see him. But I did. And oh, he’s--he’s just as handsome as ever!” She turned her face away, to hide the tears in her eyes. “My poor girl,” said Helen, taking her hand. It was at an afternoon tea that the strange girl had confided to Helen Briggs the story of her baffled love-affair. Since that time Helen had often thought of it with a pity none the less real because it had the relief of amusement. “And he wanted me to go right out, just as I was, and get married. He said he’d call a carriage.” “I’m glad you didn’t, dear,” said Helen, trying to keep from smiling. “I think I would have gone--only I just had my every-day dress on, and I looked horrid! It seemed so foolish to go like that. And now I’m sorry I didn’t. I never shall have the courage again.” “You’re sorry?” “Yes, because ma says that I’m not to see him any more. She made an awful fuss. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Won’t you please talk to ma? He’s just as good as he can be, and even if he isn’t very successful he earns enough for two. That’s all I care about.” “But what can I say to your mother, dear? I don’t even know him.” Carrie Cora looked down and began to rub the carpet with her foot. “Well, ma thinks everything of you, and if you’d just--just ask her to let him come to see me, that would be something. I’m sure she’ll like him when she understands him better. Pa likes him, but pa is afraid to oppose ma in anything, except when he gets roused.” Helen patted the girl’s hand affectionately. “Well, dear, I’ll go to see your mother to-morrow. I’ll take her out for a drive. Then we can have a good talk together.” Carrie Cora impulsively threw her arms around Helen’s neck. “Oh, Mrs. Briggs!” she cried. Then she drew back, ashamed. “It’s silly of me to act like this, isn’t it, before all these people? But I must go now. They’ll wonder what has happened to me. Good-night, dear Mrs. Briggs.” During Helen’s talk with the girl Franklin West had appeared at the back of the hall with M. de Lange, whom he seemed to know. As soon as the girl disappeared the two men walked toward Helen. The Frenchman drew his heels together and made another of his low bows, which West observed with the amused superiority of the American, scornful of decorative politeness. “I have been waiting to say good-night, madame. Your reception, it is most beautiful! The flowers, the pretty women! Ah, you Americans, you are wonderful!” West interposed coolly: “Well, we do things in pretty good style over here, that’s a fact.” M. de Lange looked bewildered. Then his face shone.