“Of course; how stupid of me not to recognize him, he once attended mother,” in a hurried aside as her brother and Tom entered the box. “Going down to supper?” asked Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper, attracted by her neighbors’ preparations for leaving. “Yes,” replied Marjorie shortly. “Then suppose we join forces,” ignoring the lack of cordiality in Marjorie’s manner. “Kindly hand me my scarf.” Her overbearing tone brought the carmine to Marjorie’s cheeks, and a hot retort was on her lips when, thinking better of it, she mastered her indignation. Stooping she picked up the gold and silver Coronation scarf which had fallen inside their box, and laid it across Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s bare expanse of shoulder. “All ready?” questioned Duncan, inspecting his small party. “Then come on.” Once in the crowded dining-room on the ground floor of the New Willard, Marjorie thanked a kindly Providence which ordained that the tables were too small to accommodate the Calhoun-Cooper party and her own, and she saw them depart to another quarter of the room with inward joy. Barnard, silently resenting that he was the fifth spoke in the wheel, left them, and joined another group of friends, and Duncan, contemplating his sister and Tom already deep in conversation, gave his undivided attention to Marjorie. They were none of them conscious of the tardiness of the service, or the flight of time, and Tom gave voice to genuine regret as they finally rose from the table and made their way to the lift. “Why do good times have to end?” he grumbled. “I don’t know when I have enjoyed myself so much.” “It has been fun,” agreed Janet softly, secretly longing to linger beside the distinguished-looking young officer. “Shall we see you at dinner tomorrow?” “You bet!” he whispered, with emphasis. “Go ahead, Janet,” Duncan’s strong arm propelled his sister forward. “Don’t you see the lift is waiting?” As Marjorie and Tom started to follow them some new arrivals pushed rudely between, and an instant later, the packed elevator shot upward. “Never mind, we’ll catch the next one,” said Tom consolingly, as he darted to the second shaft. “It’s coming down now.” They waited impatiently for the passengers in the elevator to step out in the square hall, then entered and found they had the lift to themselves. The elevator boy was about to release the lever, when the starter tapped on the glass partition, and throwing open the door, permitted Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper to step inside. “Good evening, sir,” said Marjorie cordially. “Oh, how do you do,” replied Calhoun-Cooper, somewhat taken aback on recognizing his companions. He barely nodded to Tom, whose greeting was equally curt; and Marjorie, becoming aware of the apparently strained relations between the two men, broke the awkward silence. “I am afraid you are too late to see the ball at its height,” she said. “I couldn’t get here any earlier,” answered Calhoun-Cooper. “Have you seen my wife and daughter this evening?”