Before the knife descended, Genevieve caught her hand. "Wait! Look here," she parleyed. Taking the knife, she thrust its point through the elaborate white frosting, with two or three gentle taps. "Why, it's hard!--hard as stone," ejaculated Tilly, trying for herself. "It _is_ stone," laughed Genevieve. "Stone!" cried a chorus of unbelieving voices. "Yes, stone--frosted with sugar and the whites of eggs. Oh, if you'd lived in Texas as long as I have you'd have seen them before," nodded Genevieve. "Well, I've got my opinion of Texas cakes, then," pouted Tilly, with saucy impertinence. "Oh, you'll change it later, I reckon--when you see the real ones," rejoined Genevieve, comfortably, as they left the dining-room. There never had been, surely, such a party. All the Happy Hexagons agreed to that. So, too, did all the guests. Perhaps on no one's face was there a look of anxious care except on Cordelia's. Possibly Mr. Hartley noticed this look. At all events he watched Cordelia rather closely, as the evening advanced, particularly after he chanced to overhear some of her remarks to his guests. Then he sought his daughter. "Dearie," he began in a low voice, leading her a little to one side, "what in the world ails that little Miss Cordelia?" "Ails her! What do you mean? Is she sick?" "No, I don't think so; but she looks as if she'd got the weight of the whole outfit on her shoulders, and she seems to be going 'round asking everybody if they knew John somebody, or Lizzie somebody else." Genevieve laughed merrily; but almost at once she frowned and shook her head. "No, I don't know, Father, what is the matter. But Cordelia is capable of--anything, if once her conscience is stirred. Why don't you ask her yourself?" "I believe I will, dearie," he asserted at last. Five minutes later he chanced to find Cordelia without a partner. "Miss Cordelia, will you accept an old man for this dance?" he asked genially. "And shall we sit it out, perhaps?" "Oh, thank you! I'd love to," cried Cordelia in a relieved voice. "And I shall be so glad to rest!" "Tired--dancing?" he asked. "Oh, no, not dancing; that is--well--" She stopped, and colored painfully. Mr. Hartley waited a moment, then observed with a smile: "You seem to be looking for some one to-night, Miss Cordelia. Didn't I hear you asking Mr. Boynton and Joe Wetherby if they knew John somebody or other?" Again a pink flush spread over Cordelia's face, "Yes, sir; I am looking for somebody--four somebodies." "You don't say! Found them yet?" She shook her head. To the man's surprise and distress, her eyes filled with tears. "No, Mr. Hartley, and that's what's the trouble. That's why I'm trying so hard to-night to ask all these people--there's such a little time left!" "Time--left?"