ll of them, was quickly communicated to the American. They were
thoughts of a nature so violent and uncomplimentary that Philip hastily
cut off all connection.

As Philip did not know the name of the Dresden-china doll, it was
fortunate that on opening the door, the butler promptly announced:

"Her ladyship is not receiving."

"Her ladyship will, I think, receive me," said Philip pleasantly, "when
you tell her I come as the special ambassador of his lordship."

From a tiny reception-room on the right of the entrance-hall there
issued a feminine exclamation of surprise, not unmixed with joy; and in
the hall the noble lady instantly appeared.

When she saw herself confronted by a stranger, she halted in
embarrassment. But as, even while she halted, her only thought had
been, "Oh! if he will only ask me to forgive him!" Philip felt no
embarrassment whatsoever. Outside, concealed behind a cab horse, was the
erring but bitterly repentant husband; inside, her tenderest thoughts
racing tumultuously toward him, was an unhappy child-wife begging to be
begged to pardon.

For a New York reporter, and a Harvard graduate of charm and good
manners, it was too easy.

"I do not know you," said her ladyship. But even as she spoke she
motioned to the butler to go away. "You must be one of his new friends."
Her tone was one of envy.

"Indeed, I am his newest friend," Philip assured her; "but I can safely
say no one knows his thoughts as well as I. And they are all of you!"

The china shepherdess blushed with happiness, but instantly she shook
her head.

"They tell me I must not believe him," she announced. "They tell me--"

"Never mind what they tell you," commanded Philip. "Listen to ME. He
loves you. Better than ever before, he loves you. All he asks is the
chance to tell you so. You cannot help but believe him. Who can look at
you, and not believe that he loves you! Let me," he begged, "bring him
to you." He started from her when, remembering the somewhat violent
thoughts of the youthful husband, he added hastily: "Or perhaps it would
be better if you called him yourself."

"Called him!" exclaimed the lady. "He is in Paris-at the races--with
her!"

"If they tell you that sort of thing," protested Philip indignantly,
"you must listen to me. He is not in Paris. He is not with her. There
never was a her!"

He drew aside the lace curtains and pointed. "He is there--behind that
ancient cab horse, praying that you will let