She stopped as I came up to them. Clearly she and my hostess were on the best of terms. The three of us talked about nothing in particular for a moment, and then Mrs. Furneau hurried away to greet newer arrivals and I led the girl to a seat. She came from Utica, I learned, had never been in New York before this visit to her aunt, and before long I had her embarked on a description of her impressions of the people she had met in her aunt’s circle. In the meantime I studied the lovely face. From the point of view of a painter of portraits the features were almost perfect. And with all the beauty of wide gray eyes, straight, delicate nose and crimson, sweetly curving lips, she had that added something—expression, spirit, feeling, call it what you will—that made the lovely features really beautiful. I could hardly credit her, even as I sat and watched her. Presently she faltered and colored faintly and I drew my eyes hastily away. Then, more to cover the momentary embarrassment than anything else, I reverted to the remark which I had overheard. “Won’t you tell me what was the most wonderful stuff you ever tasted?” I inquired. She laughed gayly. “Oh, my aunt took, me to a funny party this afternoon, before we came here. There were all sorts of queer people there, and I—I didn’t care for it very much. But they gave me some of the most wonderful tea you can imagine. It almost reconciled me to the people for a while. I felt sort of dreamy, as though I loved the whole world. And then afterwards”—she laughed a little shyly—“I liked them all less than ever. There must have been something queer in it.” My first thought was delight at the girl’s entire ingenuousness. But a moment later the full significance of her words came to me, and I realized that here might be the clew for which we had been searching for so long. “How extraordinary!” I laughed. “But are you sure that it was the tea and not just a sudden mood?” My companion shook her head. “No,” she answered positively, “I know the sort of mood you mean, But this was something much more distinct and engrossing. Why, for a little while everything seemed to expand or contract in the queerest way. I’m afraid I can’t explain very well. But everything there—all the people and even the things in the room—seemed to have delightful and wonderful qualities, and—— I’m afraid that doesn’t sound very coherent?” she broke off, laughing. “It is quite coherent,” I responded, “though strange enough, surely. But——” I broke off and looked into her eyes. “But what?” I was silent a moment. “But I wonder,” I went on, “whether I might become socially impossible for a moment and say something serious?” The lovely eyes met mine in frank surprise and inquiry. “. . . and I wonder whether that sort of thing is good for one?” I finished.