Katie soon found occasion to cast off her fear that her evening's happiness would be destroyed by a dearth of partners. Her troubles began to be of an exactly opposite description. She had almost envied Miss Golightly her little book full of engagements, and now she found herself dreadfully bewildered by a book of her own. Some one had given her a card and a pencil, and every moment she could get to herself was taken up in endeavouring to guard herself from perfidy on her own part. All down the card, at intervals which were not very far apart, there were great C's, which stood for Charley, and her firmest feeling was that no earthly consideration should be allowed to interfere with those landmarks. And then there were all manner of hieroglyphics--sometimes, unfortunately, illegible to Katie herself--French names and English names mixed together in a manner most vexatious; and to make matters worse, she found that she had put down both Victoire Jaquêtanàpe and Mr. Johnson of the Weights, by a great I, and she could not remember with whom she was bound to dance the lancers, and to which she had promised the last polka before supper. One thing, however, was quite fixed: when supper should arrive she was to go downstairs with Charley. 'What dreadful news, Linda!' said Charley; 'did you hear it?' Linda was standing up with Mr. Neverbend for a sober quadrille, and Katie also was close by with her partner. 'Dreadful news indeed!' 'What is it?' said Linda. 'A man can die but once, to be sure; but to be killed in such a manner as that, is certainly very sad.' 'Killed! who has been killed?' said Neverbend. 'Well, perhaps I shouldn't say killed. He only died in the cab as he went home.' 'Died in a cab! how dreadful!' said Neverbend. 'Who? who was it, Mr. Tudor?' 'Didn't you hear? How very odd! Why M. de l'Empereur, to be sure. I wonder what the coroner will bring it in.' 'How can you talk such nonsense, Charley?' said Linda. 'Very well, Master Charley,' said Katie. 'All that comes of being a writer of romances. I suppose that's to be the next contribution to the _Daily Delight_.' Neverbend went off on his quadrille not at all pleased with the joke. Indeed, he was never pleased with a joke, and in this instance he ventured to suggest to his partner that the idea of a gentleman expiring in a cab was much too horrid to be laughed at. 'Oh, we never mind Charley Tudor,' said Linda; 'he always goes on in that way. We all like him so much.'