Ten minutes later the last guest had arrived, and Duncan, keeping up a detached conversation with a nervous débutante, watched Marjorie with increasing interest. Her youth might be against her as a chaperon, but her poise and good breeding left nothing to be desired. No sign of awkwardness was discernible in her manner as she stood by Janet’s side assisting her in receiving the guests, and Calderon Fordyce, stopping beside his son, whispered a vehement: “She’ll do.” His attention distracted, Duncan failed to see one guest’s quickly concealed astonishment on beholding Marjorie standing beside Janet. “You here!” exclaimed Chichester Barnard. “How--how--delightful!” “Thank you,” replied Marjorie gently. “I think, Chichester, you are to take out our hostess, Miss Fordyce,” as the butler and footman parted the portières. “Ah, Baron von Valkenberg, am I your fate? Suppose we wait until the others have gone out,” and she stepped back, the diplomat at her side. After the arrival of the ices, Marjorie permitted herself a second’s relaxation, and sat back in her chair. Both her neighbors were busily engaged in conversation with the young girls sitting on the other side of them, and glad of the respite, she glanced about the table. She had been talking incessantly since the commencement of dinner and her vocal chords actually ached. Everyone seemed to be having a gay time, there was no lull in the conversation. Marjorie took in the handsome silver and glass table appointments, and the beautiful flower centerpiece with secret satisfaction; the dinner and the service had been irreproachable. In fact, the ease and quiet elegance of the dinner recalled her own mother’s delightful hospitality before they lost their money. Marjorie sighed involuntarily; then her lips stiffened resolutely. She had, on thinking over Mrs. Fordyce’s proposal, decided to back out of her engagement, but Madame Yvonett, delighted with the plan, refused to permit her to withdraw her acceptance, and bag and baggage she had arrived at the Fordyce residence at five o’clock that afternoon. “Aren’t you going to give me a word?” inquired Duncan, her left-hand neighbor, turning abruptly to her. “All I’ve seen of you is a pink ear. Baron von Valkenberg has monopolized you outrageously.” “He is a stranger,” replied Marjorie laughing. “He has only been in this country five weeks; I’ve been trying to make him feel at home.” “A very laudable object; but I’m a stranger, too,” protested Duncan. “You might be nice to me.” “But you _are_ at home,” Marjorie’s smile was one of her greatest charms, and Duncan, all unconscious, fell under its spell. “Is this your first visit to Washington?” “No. When at Yale I used to spend my vacations here with Mrs. McIntyre. That was ten years ago. Do you know, at the two entertainments I’ve been to already, I saw some of the people I met here then, and they knew me.”