At length she returned, bringing with her some studies of magnolias that were freer and more vigorous than any of her previous work. She greeted her mother with her usual tenderness, and to Kate her coming was like a lifting of clouds and opening of windows; the mother had never supposed that anything in her life could ever again strike such deep roots as this passion for her daughter. _Perfect love casteth out fear!_ “Does it? _How does any one know?_” she had often incredulously asked herself. But now, for the first time, love and security dwelt together in her in a kind of millennial quiet. She grudged having to dine out on the evening of Anne’s return; but Mrs. Porter Lanfrey was celebrating Lilla’s betrothal by a big dinner, with music afterward, and Anne, arriving by a late train, had barely time to dress before the motor was announced. There was no way of avoiding the festivity; its social significance was immeasurable. Mrs. Lanfrey was one of the hostesses who had dropped Lilla from their lists after the divorce, and Mrs. Lanfrey’s yea or nay was almost the last survival of the old social code in New York. Those she invited, at any rate, said that hers was the only house where there was a “tradition” left; and though Lilla, at this, used to growl: “Yes, the tradition of how to bore people,” her reinstatement visibly elated her as much as it did her family. To Enid Drover--resplendent in all her jewels--the event had already reversed the parts in her daughter’s matrimonial drama, and relegated all the obloquy to the outraged Gates. “Of course this evening shows what Jessie Lanfrey really thinks of Phil Gates,” Enid whispered to Mrs. Clephane as the sisters-in-law took off their cloaks in the marble hall; and Kate inwardly emended, with a faint smile: “Or what she really thinks of Horace Maclew.” Mrs. Clephane had entered the vast Lanfrey drawing-room with a shrinking not produced by the presence of most of her own former censors and judges--now transformed into staunch champions or carelessly benevolent acquaintances--but by the dread of seeing, behind Mr. Maclew’s momentous bulk, a slighter figure and more vivid face. But the moment of suspense was not long; Chris was not there; nor was his name announced after her arrival. The guests were all assembled; the dining-room doors were thrown open, and Mrs. Lanfrey, taking Mr. Maclew’s arm, majestically closed the procession from walnut-and-gold to gold-and-marble--for the Lanfrey house was “tradition” made visible, and even the _menu_ was exactly what a previous transmitter of the faith had thought a _menu_ ought to be when Mrs. Lanfrey gave her first dinner.