His impulse was to go to her at once, but cooler counsel prevailed. Such a course would instantly draw attention to Marjorie; he would not mind, but she might seriously resent being made conspicuous. With inward fervor he consigned the cook who invented long menus to a warm climate; the table had to be cleared and the ices served before he would be free to go to Marjorie. He glanced at his neighbors: Miss Marsh was holding an animated three-cornered conversation with Chichester Barnard and Miss Swann, and Miss Dodge, on his left, was deeply engrossed with Joe Calhoun-Cooper. He was the only person at the table not busily talking. Taking up his place card and drawing out a gold pencil, he wrote a few lines under cover of the table, and beckoning to Perkins, slipped the card inside his hand with a whispered direction. A second later Marjorie’s elbow was gently jogged by Perkins and a card was placed in her lap unseen by her neighbors. Surprised and somewhat alarmed, she waited until Potter and Janet were engaged in a warm argument; then glanced down, and under the shelter of her napkin read the few words written in Duncan’s distinctive writing on the back of his place card: MARJORIE: I love you. Will you marry me? Answer yes, by raising your champagne glass. DUNCAN. Janet turned back again to Tom, and Potter, left to himself, addressed several remarks to Marjorie. Not getting any reply, he looked at her in surprise and discovered her eye-lashes were wet with tears. Before he could think of anything to say or do, she glanced up, her face transfigured. “W--what did you say?” she stammered. Her eyes, alight with new-born happiness and hope traveled past Potter to Duncan. A moment’s hesitation; then she raised her champagne glass to him, and Duncan’s blood coursed hotly through his veins as he pledged her in tender silence across the table. “I did not catch what you said, Dr. Potter,” she added softly, her eyes never leaving Duncan’s radiant face. CHAPTER XXV PHANTOMS OF THE NIGHT KATHRYN ALLEN, taking care that her starched white nurse’s uniform made no crinkling sound, bent over Mrs. Fordyce and listened to her regular breathing. Satisfied that her patient was at last asleep, she arranged the night-light, placed several bottles and glasses on the bedstand, and left the room. Her rubber-soled shoes made no sound, and she passed through the empty rooms and halls in ghostly silence. First, she paid a lengthy visit to Marjorie’s old room, and when she emerged into the hall her white gown was covered by a dark coat-sweater which Mrs. Fordyce had given to Marjorie at Christmas, and the becoming white nurse’s cap nestled in one of the pockets of the sweater. Finally, reaching the drawing-room floor, she paused to listen to the distant hum of voices and gay laughter coming faintly from the dining-room, then she peeped into the ballroom. It was empty, and the drawing-room likewise.