Not until I was convinced that the end must come between Breck and me, did I tell the family that he had ever proposed marriage. There exists, I believe, some sort of unwritten law that once a man proposes and a girl refuses, attentions should cease. I came in on Sunday afternoon from an automobile ride with Breck just before he sailed for England and dramatically announced his proposal to the family--just as if he hadn't been urging the same thing ever since I knew him. I expected Edith would be displeased when she learned that I wasn't going to marry Breck, so I didn't tell her my decision immediately. I dreaded to undertake to explain to her what a slaughter to my ideals such a marriage would be. Oh, I was young then, you see, young and hopeful. Everything was ahead of me. There was a splendid chance for happiness. "I can't marry Breck Sewall, Edith," I attempted at last. "I can't marry any one--yet." "And what do you intend to do with yourself?" she inquired in that cold, unsympathetic way she assumes when she is angry. "I don't know, yet. There's a chance for all sorts of good things to come true," I replied lightly. "You've been out three years, you know," she reminded me icily. The Sewalls occupied their English estate for several seasons. Grassmere remained closed and barred. I did not see my young millionaire again until I was an older girl, and my ideals had undergone extensive alterations. CHAPTER IV A BACK-SEASON DEBUTANTE Debutantes are a good deal like first novels--advertised and introduced at a great expenditure of money and effort, and presented to the public with fear and trembling. But the greatest likeness comes later. The best-sellers of one spring must be put up on the high shelves to make room for new merchandise the next. At the end of several years the once besought and discussed book can be found by the dozens on bargain counters in department stores, marked down to fifty cents a copy.