The last remark made by Miss De Voe to her fire resulted, after a few days, in Peter’s receiving a formal dinner invitation, which he accepted with a promptness not to be surpassed by the best-bred diner-out. He regretted now his vamping of the old suit. Peter understood that he was in for quite another affair than the Avery, the Gallagher, or even the Purple dinner. He did not worry, however, and if in the dressing-room he looked furtively at the coats of the other men, he entirely forgot the subject the moment he started downstairs, and thought no further of it till he came to take off the suit in his own room. When Peter entered the drawing-room, he found it well filled with young people, and for a moment a little of the bewildered feeling of four years before came over him. But he found himself chatting with Miss De Voe, and the feeling left him as quickly as it had come. In a moment he was introduced to a “Miss Lenox,” who began talking in an easy way which gave Peter just as much or as little to say as he chose. Peter wondered if many girls were as easy to talk to as—as—Miss Lenox. He took Miss De Voe in, and found Dorothy Ogden sitting on his other side. He had barely exchanged greetings with her, when he heard his name spoken from across the table, and looking up, he found Miss Leroy sitting opposite. “I hope you haven’t entirely forgotten me,” that girl said, the moment his attention was caught. “Not at all,” said Peter. “Nor my dress,” laughed Miss Leroy. “I remember the style, material, and train.” “Especially the train I am sure.” “Do explain these mysterious remarks,” said Dorothy. “Mr. Stirling and I officiated at a wedding, and I was in such mortal terror lest some usher should step on my gown, that it became a joke.” “Whose wedding was that?” asked Miss De Voe. “Miss Pierce’s and Watts D’Alloi’s,” said the bridesmaid. “Do you know Watts D’Alloi?” exclaimed Miss De Voe to Peter. “Yes.” “Indeed! When?” “At college.” “Are you a Harvard man?” “Yes.” “You were Mr. D’Alloi’s chum, weren’t you?” said Miss Leroy. “Yes.” “Watts D’Alloi?” again exclaimed Miss De Voe. “Yes.” “But he’s a mere boy.” “He’s two years my senior.” “You don’t mean it?” “Yes.” “I thought you were over thirty.” “Most people do.” Miss De Voe said to herself, “I don’t know as much about him as I thought I did. He may be very frank, but he doesn’t tell all one thinks. Now I know where he gets his nice manner. I ought to have recognized the Harvard finish.” “When did you last hear from the D’Allois?” asked Miss Leroy. “Not since they sailed,” said Peter, wincing internally. “Not really?” said the bridesmaid. “Surely you’ve heard of the baby?” “No.” Lines were coming into Peter’s face which Miss De Voe had never before seen. “How strange. The letters must have gone astray. But you have written him?” “I did not know his address.”