affair, Christine," she said. "No consideration for others,
scarcely time to make the wedding-dress, and I think she asked
everyone she saw to come to her marriage. She talked the slang of
every country she had visited, and the men all thought it 'so funny'
when she kicked up her dress with her heel, and treated them to a bit
of London or New York slang. The perfectly silly and easy way in which
men are caught, and tied fast, always amazes me, Christine. It is just
like walking up to a horse's head, with a dish full of corn in one
hand and a bridle in the other. This little Sabrina Wales walked up to
Reginald Rath with a bit of London slang on her lips, and a wedding
ring hid in the palm of her hand, and the poor man is her slave for
life."

"Not necessarily a slave for life, Roberta."

"Necessarily. No remission. No redemption. The contract reads 'until
death us part.'"

They discussed Sabrina from head to feet--her hair, her eyes, her
complexion, her carriage, her way of dressing, her gowns--all short in
front and long behind--"can you guess what for, Christine?"

"Perhaps she has pretty feet."

"She has very small ones. I do not know whether they are pretty or
not. But the effect is striking, if you watch her from the front--you
can't help thinking of a turkey gobbler."

The hours went happily enough, Christine enjoyed them. After her paper
heroine, this all-alive, scornful, loving and hating, talking and
laughing woman was a great pleasure. Christine baked delicious scones,
and scalloped some fine oysters in bread crumbs and chopped parsley,
and made one or two pots of Pekoe and Young Hyson tea, and they
nibbled and sipped, and talked over the whole sacred druidical family
of the Raths, even to Aunt Agatha, who was worth half a million
pounds--"which I threw away for a good joke," said Roberta.

"Look at the clock, it is near midnight! We must go to bed."

"Well, then, I have had the loveliest day. I shall never forget it,
and I will tell Neil all about it before long. Dear Christine, I am
glad you are my sister, it lets me take nice little liberties with
you; and you know, I love you, but that is inevitable. No one can help
it."

When Roberta went, she seemed to take the sunshine with her. The
summer of All Saints, and the melancholy of its long fine weather was
over, and there was the touch of winter in the frosty nights and
mornings, but for five weeks Christine heeded nothing but her new
novel. For