"Some day we will think it out together," he whispers, waving her fan gently. "We shall meet again, Mrs. Roche"--speaking confidently--"for have we not a mutual friend in Mrs. Mounteagle, whom I regret is not here to-night?" "Yes. It is strange that we should both know her." Eleanor has risen, and is holding out her hand for the fan. "You are not going?" "Look at the hour! I shall be disgraced if I stay longer." She leaves him, and bids her hostess good-night, but finds he is waiting in the hall for a last word. "May I call your carriage?" "I did not order it, as I only live three doors off." "Then may I escort you?" Eleanor glances at him confidently with her large innocent eyes. "Yes; I mean you to." Mr. Quinton smiles, and takes her arm as they step out into the darkness. "I knew somebody would see me home," she says, the old, childish Eleanor breaking through the "Giddy" manner. "I thought it would be much more fun than driving this step." "Then it was premeditated." She laughs softly. "I wish it were not so near," murmurs Mr. Quinton. "Mrs. Mounteagle wanted to let me in--I believe out of simple curiosity. I am to throw stones at her window. Quite romantic, isn't it?" "May I have a shot?" he asks. "Which is the pane of beauty's shrine?" "There, on the left of my room," pointing upwards. A handful of gravel flies through the air. Rattle, rattle on the glass. Then Giddy appears in a white _robe de chambre_, her dark hair falling in waves about her shoulders. "All right, I am coming down." A moment later she stands before them, laughing and shaking hands with Carol Quinton, two small, bare feet peeping from under her airy garb, her hair still unfettered. "It is a delightful surprise to see _you_, Carol," she cries. "I have sent all the servants to bed, Eleanor, but told them to leave out some aspic and champagne, as I know the Hilliers starve their guests. What do you say to an impromptu supper party? It would be so delightfully unconventional." She has dragged Carol into the hall and closed the door. "Yes, do come in," echoes Eleanor feebly, pleased and yet awed by Giddy's suggestion. She is looking somewhat blankly at those delicate pink toes, and the dark mane falling over the white gown. "Shall I get you some shoes?" she whispers. "No, dear; Nature is better than leather, and more _neglige_." She speaks in a tone that silences Eleanor, who feels she has been dense and awkward. "Come along," says Giddy, leading the way, and lighting the silver candelabra in the dining-room. "Do make Eleanor take off that heavy fur cloak, Carol. Oh! isn't this nice?" as he fills her glass with champagne. "Was there ever a jollier little trio?" leaning back in her chair and surveying the other two complacently. "Pass me a brown sandwich; I am hungry if you are not, and the stuff inside them gives you an appetite. What do you call it?--something beginning with an 'L.'"