sing the room to the old, wide fireplace, she rang the bell.

She stood by the fireplace a moment, restoring to its place a rose
which had fallen from a vase on the mantelpiece; and her attitude, as
with arms upraised she arranged the flowers, displayed the delightful
line of a slender figure. As she let fall her arms to her side, a
footman entered the room.

"Will you please bring the tea, Alfred," she said in a charming voice
of that pure, bell-like tone which has been Nature's most precious gift
to but a few of the greatest actresses.

"For how many, miss?" said Alfred.

"For four--unless your master has come back."

"Oh, no; he's not back yet, miss. He went in the car to Rennes to
lunch; and it's a good many miles away. He won't be back for another
hour."

"And the Duke--he's not back from his ride yet, is he?"

"Not yet, miss," said Alfred, turning to go.

"One moment," said Sonia. "Have all of you got your things packed for
the journey to Paris? You will have to start soon, you know. Are all
the maids ready?"

"Well, all the men are ready, I know, miss. But about the maids, miss,
I can't say. They've been bustling about all day; but it takes them
longer than it does us."

"Tell them to hurry up; and be as quick as you can with the tea,
please," said Sonia.

Alfred went out of the room; Sonia went back to the writing-table. She
did not take up her pen; she took up one of the wedding-cards; and her
lips moved slowly as she read it in a pondering depression.

The petulant, imperious voice broke in upon her musing.

"Whatever are you doing, Sonia? Aren't you getting on with those
letters?" it cried angrily; and Germaine Gournay-Martin came through
the long window into the hall.

The heiress to the Gournay-Martin millions carried her tennis racquet
in her hand; and her rosy cheeks were flushed redder than ever by the
game. She was a pretty girl in a striking, high-coloured, rather
obvious way--the very foil to Sonia's delicate beauty. Her lips were a
little too thin, her eyes too shallow; and together they gave her a
rather hard air, in strongest contrast to the gentle, sympathetic face
of Sonia.

The two friends with whom Germaine had been playing tennis followed her
into the hall: Jeanne Gautier, tall, sallow, dark, with a somewhat
malicious air; Marie Bullier, short, round, commonplace, and
sentimental.

They came to the table at which Sonia was at work; and pointing to the
pile of envelopes, M