velvet cut with long, sweeping lines and of an excessive
simplicity; and a black velvet hat of medium size with a drooping brim
that almost covered one eye. The long white gloves disappeared into her
sleeves somewhere above the elbow and she wore a single string of pearls.
She looked very Parisian, very elegant, as Mrs. Oglethorpe would have
expressed it, and very assured. In spite of the mocking gleam in the one
visible eye her face was serene and proud.

She had felt some trepidation on Tuesday when she had sought out Mrs.
Oglethorpe and made her explanations, but she felt none whatever at the
prospect of meeting these other twelve old friends. Whether they
approved or resented, were indulgent or elevated their respectable noses
and intimated, "You are no longer one of _us_," was a matter of profound
indifference to Mary Zattiany. She would have avoided them all if it had
been possible, but since she had deliberately permitted her hand to be
forced she would take the situation humorously and amuse herself with
whatever drama it might afford.

Elinor Goodrich. Mabel Lawrence. Polly Vane. Isabel Ruyler. Ellen de
Lacey. Louise Prevost. She had been so intimate with all of them, not
only in the schoolroom but when they were all in Society together. Now
only her somewhat cynical sense of anticipation mitigated utter boredom
at the thought of meeting them again. Of the other six she had still
vaguer memories, although she recalled having heard that the beauty of
her own last season, Lily Armstrong, had married one of the Tracys. She
also was to be at the luncheon.

What on earth was she to talk to them about at the table? She could
hardly tell them the story they expected before the servants. That would
be for the later hour in the drawing-room--or would it be in that absurd
old room of Jane's upstairs?

She recalled Elinor Tracy (Goodrich) and her enthusiastic admiration,
which she had accepted as a matter-of-course, and given little beyond
amiable tolerance in return. As she had told Clavering, she was not a
woman's woman. She hoped Nelly had outgrown "gush." For some ten years
after her marriage she had met her from time to time abroad, but she had
not seen her for so long that she doubted if she would recognize her if
they passed on the street. The only one of her old friends for whom she
retained either interest or affection was Jane Oglethorpe, who, ten years
older than herself, with a commanding