“I don’t pretend to be a lady, and what I am, you’ve made me,” she said, and the reproach was mechanical. He had heard it before, not only from her but from others similarly placed. “I don’t think it’s very kind to throw my education up in my face, considering the money I’ve made for you.” “And for yourself.” He yawned. “Get me some tea.” “You might say ‘please’ now and again,” she said resentfully, and he smiled as he took up the evening paper, paying her no more attention, until she had rung the bell with a vicious jerk and the silver tray came in and was deposited on a table near him. “Where are you going to-night?” His interest in her movements was unusual, and she was flattered. “You know very well, Monty, where I’m going to-night,” she said reproachfully. “You promised to take me too. I think you’d look wonderful as a Crusader—one of them—those old knights in armour.” He nodded, but not to her comment. “I remember, of course—the Arts Ball.” His surprise was so well simulated that she was deceived. “Fancy your forgetting! I’m going as Cinderella, and Minnie Gray is going as a pierrette——” “Minnie Gray isn’t going as anything,” said Monty, sipping his tea. “I’ve already telephoned to her to say that the engagement is off. Miss Leicester is going with you.” “But, Monty——” protested the girl. “Don’t ‘but Monty’ me,” he ordered. “I’m telling you! Go up and see this girl, and put it to her that you’ve got a spare ticket for the dance.” “But her costume, Monty! The girl hasn’t got a fancy dress. And Minnie——” “Forget Minnie, will you? Mirabelle Leicester is going to the Arts Ball to-night.” He tapped the tray before him to emphasize every word. “You have a ticket to spare, and you simply can’t go alone because I have a very important business engagement and your friend has failed you. Her dress will be here in a few minutes: it is a bright green domino with a bright-red hood.” “How perfectly hideous!” She forgot for the moment her disappointment in this outrage. “Bright green! Nobody has a complexion to stand that!” Yet he ignored her. “You will explain to Miss Leicester that the dress came from a friend who, through illness or any cause you like to invent, is unable to go to the dance—she’ll jump at the chance. It is one of the events of the year and tickets are selling at a premium.” She asked him what that meant, and he explained patiently. “Maybe she’ll want to spend a quiet evening—have one of those headaches,” he went on. “If that is so, you can tell her that I’ve got a party coming to the house to-night, and they will be a little noisy. Did she want to know anything about me?” “No, she didn’t,” snapped Joan promptly. “She didn’t want to know about anything. I couldn’t get her to talk. She’s like a dumb oyster.” Mirabelle was sitting by the window, looking down into the square, when there was a gentle tap at the door and Joan came in. “I’ve got wonderful news for you,” she said.