“I gathered that was the relationship; please give her my kind remembrances and say that I hope to call soon.” Calhoun-Cooper turned back to his wife. “Miss Langdon is a great-granddaughter of Hugh Pemberton, who gave my father his start in life,” he explained. “You must show every hospitality to Miss Langdon, mother.” Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper, divided between vexation at being called “mother” in public by her usually thoughtful husband, and bewilderment at Marjorie’s suddenly increased importance, clutched the tea-tray in despair. “Of course, John, of course,” she stammered. “Dear Miss Langdon, will you have a cup of tea? Where is them tongs?” Janet, catching sight of Pauline’s furious expression, almost laughed aloud. She covered her mouth with her large muff, the better to conceal her amusement. Truly, Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s parts of speech were flying to the four winds. “You are very kind,” said Marjorie gently. “But I have had to give up drinking tea and coffee, Miss Cooper,” addressing Pauline directly. “Mrs. Fordyce wishes to know if you and your brother will dine with her informally on Tuesday next?” “I don’t recall any engagement for that night,” Pauline slightly mollified, answered with more than her usual warmth; a more intimate footing with the Fordyce family counted for much in her social ambitions. “Please tell Mrs. Fordyce that Joe and I will be happy to come.” “That is very nice,” smiled Marjorie. “Mrs. Fordyce has sent you a formal invitation which you will receive this evening, but she asked me to speak of the matter as the time is short. Come, Janet, I am afraid we must go. Good-bye, so glad we found you.” Calhoun-Cooper accompanied the two girls to their limousine. “Don’t forget my message to your aunt, Miss Langdon,” he said, as he closed the door of the machine. “Where next?” inquired Janet, as Marjorie consulted her list. “I think we had better leave cards at the White House,” she said, and Janet, picking up the speaking tube, gave the order, and the big car started down Sixteenth Street. “Have you seen Captain Nichols lately, Marjorie?” asked Janet, breaking the brief pause. “No, he hasn’t been near me.” Marjorie studied Janet’s flushed face with keen attention. Could it be possible that the young débutante was falling in love with Tom? Had she lost interest in Chichester Barnard? With all her heart Marjorie hoped such was the case. Janet was too charming a girl to be taken in by the wiles of a fortune hunter. To Marjorie’s relief, she had seen nothing of Chichester Barnard since meeting him at her aunt’s on Christmas Day, nor had he called recently at the Fordyces. It was not like him to be easily discouraged, he was of the persevering kind, and Marjorie marveled at his absence. Were Janet and he meeting clandestinely? The thought sent a cold shiver down her back. Abruptly she turned to Janet. “Were you walking with Chichester Barnard yesterday?” she inquired.