“Yes.” “Suppose we join them,” paying no attention to the shortness of his tone. “Joe is so susceptible to pretty women, and Miss Langdon is more than pretty. How does she get on with Mrs. Fordyce?” “Very well, I believe.” “Then she must have a remarkable disposition, for I am told that Mrs. Fordyce’s peculiarities make her difficult to live with,” responded Pauline. “A friend of mother’s acted as her companion in San Francisco while Janet was at boarding-school, and she said Mrs. Fordyce’s curious....” she broke off abruptly. “Good evening, Miss Langdon,” sweetly. “I am afraid I shall have to carry off my brother,” slipping her arm inside his as he rose at her approach. Joe’s face darkened, and he raged inwardly. It was like Pauline to spoil his fun and make him appear ridiculous. “Be satisfied with Mr. Barnard, sister mine,” he said coolly. “I am having a very good time where I am.” “I have no doubt of that,” Pauline’s voice was venomous under its honey sweetness. “But do think of poor Miss Langdon! There are two débutantes anxious to meet you, dear, so come; Miss Langdon will excuse us.” “Oh, certainly,” Marjorie allowed a faint hint of her secret amusement to creep into her charmingly modulated voice. “I quite understand. Shall I keep a dance for you later, Mr. Cooper?” purposely omitting the “Calhoun.” “Well, rather; two at the very least,” pleaded Joe. “Do, Miss Langdon, I’ll be right back.” “Coming, Mr. Barnard?” inquired Pauline, then bit her lip as he shook his head. “I have the next dance with Miss Langdon, so of course----” a courteous bow completed his sentence, and Pauline turned abruptly on her heel and left them. “A curious pair,” commented Barnard. “Cooper appears completely under his sister’s thumb.” “She has the stronger personality.” “You put it politely,” laughed Barnard. “Miss Calhoun-Cooper is a handsome vixen.” “A type you do not admire.” “I admire no type,” smoothly. “Only one girl.” “Janet will be complimented.” “I was not referring to Miss Janet....” “Actions speak louder than words.” “Not when the wrong construction is put on them.” “Must we go over that again?” asked Marjorie wearily. “Yes,” vehemently. “On my word of honor I never gave that ring to Janet.” “What a liar you are, Chichester.” Barnard’s hand closed over her wrist in a grip that made her wince. “By heaven! you must take that back.” For reply she shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. Her open scorn stung him. Freeing her wrist, he fumbled in his vest pocket, then drew out his signet ring and held it before her. “Are you convinced, O Doubter?” he asked. Marjorie shot a swift look at him, and then at the gold circlet in his hand. “How did you get it back?” “By asking for it.” “On what grounds?” “That I lost the ring the night of their first dinner-dance.” Marjorie’s scornful regard swept him from head to foot. “Too flimsy,” she commented. “I have been fooled by you once too often.”