"Oh, Million! It just shows you never could have been in service in very exalted situations," I laughed. "Don't you know that 'not at home' simply means you don't wish to see that particular visitor?" Little Million's whole face was eloquent of the retort. "But I do wish to see him!" She did not say it. She gave a very hard sniff at the carnations in her hand, and suggested diffidently and rather shakily: "P'raps Mr. Brace might have liked to see another gentleman here? More company for him." I paused before I answered. A sudden thought had struck me. Men are supposed to be so much better at summing up other men's characters at a glance than women are. In spite of what Aunt Anastasia has said about "insufferable young bounders," I believe that this Mr. Reginald Brace is a thoroughly nice, clear-sighted sort of young man. I feel that one could rely upon his judgment of people. I'm sure that one could trust him to be sincere and fair. Why not consult him about this new, would-be friend of Million's? Why not be guided by him? He was the only available man I could be guided by, after all. So I said: "Well, Million, on second thoughts, of course, if you have another man here, it isn't quite the same thing as receiving this Mr. Burke by himself. It puts him on a different footing. And----" "D'you mean I may have him here after all, Miss?" cried Million, lighting up again at once. "Mr. Burke, I mean." "Oh, yes, have him," I said resignedly. "Have both of them. We'll see what happens when they meet." CHAPTER XII THE DAY OF THE PARTY TO-DAY'S the day! At four o'clock those two young men are coming to the Hotel Cecil, where for the first time it will be a case of "Miss Million at home." And to begin with Miss Million and her maid have had quite a fierce argument. I knew it was coming. I scented it afar off as soon as Million had sent off her formal little note (dictated by me) to the Hon. James Burke at this hotel. As soon as we had settled which of all her new gowns the little hostess was going to wear for this event she turned to me. Obviously suppressing the "Miss Beatrice," which still lingers on the tip of her tongue, Million asked: "And what are you goin' to put on?" "Put on?" I echoed with well-simulated surprise, for I knew perfectly what she meant. I braced myself to be firm, and took the bull by the horns. "I shan't have to 'put on' anything, you see," I explained. "I shall always be just as I am in this black frock and this darling little frilly apron, and the cap that I really love myself in. You can't say it doesn't suit me, Mill----, Miss Million."