proposing to Emily Maud. Emily'll have him. Observe the smirk! I
_always_ refuse men who propose to me at garden parties... Ha! whom
have we here? Looks like a Duchess, but probably is _not_. Old lady in
puce probably _is_, and has no right to be... Long-haired pus-son
probably an Anabaptist, or a Poet, or something of that ilk."

"It's all very well, but I want to _know_!" objected Katrine in tones of
strong disapproval. "It's the dullest thing in the world to be
surrounded by celebrities, and not to recognise a single one. Martin
goes about so little that he is no use as a guide. The dozens and
dozens of interesting invitations which he has refused these last years!
I think he might introduce us to some of his friends who _do_ know!
It's the literary people who interest me most. And the artists. It's
too tiresome!"

"Keep calm, Sweet One! We'll ask him when he comes back, and," Grizel
smiled, a slow, sweet smile, "_I_ might know one or two myself! If we
sit here patiently, some one is sure to pass. I'll keep a bright
look-out."

"Oh, do! Yes, of course, you meet all kinds of people. I've lived in a
rut. Grizel, do you know, I'm getting _tired_!"

The words were used in their deeper sense, and Grizel's long glance
proclaimed her understanding. Grizel always _did_ understand, Katrine
acknowledged ungrudgingly, but the deep, contemplative glance aroused a
remembrance of the parting of the night before, and to her annoyance she
felt the blood once more stain her cheeks. Now if Grizel proceeded to
joke, question, insinuate, she felt she could _not_ endure it, but
Grizel was silent, and spoke no word. They sat together for a long five
minutes without exchanging a remark, then suddenly strolling towards
them came a strikingly handsome woman followed at a few yards' distance
by a man and a girl, evidently members of the same party, whom for the
moment she chose to ignore. She wore a trailing gown of a deep rose
pink, and over it a cloak of chiffon, elaborately embroidered in silks.
Her head was swathed in turban-like folds, on the front of which a
diamond bosque held the end of a rampant plume. Her expression was as
unusual as her appearance, the blankness on most of the passing faces
being replaced in her case by a radiant audacity which proved her to be
no ordinary character. So striking and queenly a figure attracted
instant attention, and Katrine's melancholy reflection that this _must_
be one