"Not half so amusing as Society's according it to her," Stephanie returned. "Bluff and arrogance wins mostly." "If one has the requisite manner and cool nerve to carry them off," she amended. "I don't see anything wanting in the lady immediately in our fore!" Pendleton smiled. "Only in her case, she has been doing it so long it has become part of her life--she actually does it naturally and by arrogation of divine right. It must be pleasant to have such a comfortable feeling about one's self." Mrs. Postlewaite, in her progress down the piazza, glanced casually in and saw them.--She paused, considered an instant; then facing around, and dismissing her attendants she came over to the window. "Stephanie, dear!" she purred, in her most gracious tones, "will you come out a moment. I've something I want to tell you." _Stephanie, dear!_ It was the evidence of the return of the royal favor--the piazza had heard it--the entire Club-house would know it in a moment--it would spread like the wind. Even Stephanie's equanimity was startled into a calm surprise, which showed in her face and in her heightened color. And coming _now_--of all times! "Certainly, Mrs. Postlewaite," Stephanie answered. "And bring Montague along. I want him to hear it too," the _grande dame_ went on. "What does it mean?" Stephanie whispered, as she and Pendleton passed toward the door. "You heard what she called you: 'Stephanie, dear'?" "Yes!" "Then there isn't much doubt." "But at this juncture!" she marvelled. "Mrs. Postlewaite knows the exigencies and the juncture too, never fear. The turn has come, sweeth--I mean, Stephanie." She shot him a bewildering smile; the next moment they stood in "the presence." "Stephanie, dear," began Mrs. Postlewaite, without any preliminary, "I have heard of Mr. Dolittle's nasty tale of what he saw last night in the Croyden conservatory; I have also heard of Harry's prompt prosecution of that unspeakable Porshinger, and I want to tell you that I and Mrs. Porterfield are ready to testify in your behalf. We were on the little balcony overhanging one side of the room; we saw Porshinger make the attempt, your indignant repulse, your seizure again, your freeing yourself, and then your making him take you back to the ball-room. The last was delightful! I saw it all, my dear--and I'm proud of Harry Lorraine, because he chose to believe your story rather than that horrid Dolittle's, and to prosecute Porshinger instead of a disgraceful use of physical violence." "You're very kind, Mrs. Postlewaite," Stephanie replied--"very kind----"