‘No, indeed!’ remonstrated Eleanor. ‘I may meet him again some day, and if you tell him I shall never learn the truth. One’s only chance is to catch them unawares.’ ‘You’re a very penetrating person, Miss Royston.’ ‘I’ve been out nine seasons,’ she laughed. ‘You can trust me to know a man when I see one!’ ‘I wish you’d teach Marcia some of your lore,’ he murmured, as he turned toward the loggia to greet a fresh carriageful of guests. Even though one man were missing, still a great many others were there, and it had only been an undercurrent of Marcia’s consciousness in any case that had considered the matter. The laughter and babel of voices, the gay preparations and hurrying servants, had had their effect. As Granton clasped about her neck Mr. Copley’s expiatory gift—a copy of an old Etruscan necklace in pearls and uncut emeralds set in hammered gold—she was as pleasurably excited as a young woman may legitimately be on the eve of a birthday ball. ‘There, Granton; that’s all,’ she cried, catching up her very Parisian skirts and flying for the door. ‘Hurry with the others, please, for it won’t be long before the guests begin coming.’ She started downstairs, pulling on her gloves as she went. She paused a moment on the landing to view the scene below, and she blinked once or twice as it dawned upon her that Laurence Sybert was standing at the foot of the stairs watching her, just as he had stood the last time she had seen him when he bade her good-night. For a moment she felt an absurd tremor run through her, and then with something like a gulp she collected herself and went on down to greet him. ‘Mr. Sybert! We were afraid you weren’t coming. When did you get here?’ ‘On the late train. I have been in the south, and I didn’t get back to the city till this afternoon.’ ‘Your arrivals are always so spectacular,’ she said. ‘We entirely give you up, and then the first thing we know you are quietly standing before us on the rug.’ ‘I should call that the reverse of spectacular.’ ‘Have you seen Uncle Howard? Did they find any place to put you? The house is _cram_ full.’ ‘Oh, yes, I’ve been officially welcomed. I have a bed in your uncle’s dressing-room.’ ‘You may be thankful for that. The next comer, I am afraid, will be put in the cellar.’ Sybert did not choose to prolong these amenities of welcome any further, and he stood quietly watching her while she buttoned her gloves. She looked very radiant to-night, with the candle-light gleaming on her hair and her hazel eyes shining with excitement. Her gown was the filmiest, shimmering white with an undertone of green. About her neck the pearls gleamed whitely, each separate jewel a pulsing globe of light. Marcia glanced up and touched the necklace with her hand. ‘This is Uncle Howard’s birthday present,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it lovely? It’s a copy of an old, old necklace in Castellani’s collection. My uncle gives me pearls, and my father is sending wheat.’