-if she
were wise enough to heed it. Why two people--but I've just eaten their
salt," he acknowledged in reply to what I suppose must have been my
accusing look, and forbore to say more.

"I think I'll give a little dinner for you to-morrow night," said
Camellia reflectively, as we sat about. "A very informal one, of
course--just some of our neighbours."

I felt my spirits drop. I saw those of Hepatica and the Skeptic and the
Philosopher drop, although they made haste to prop their countenances
up again.

But the Judge protested. "Why give anything, my dear?" he questioned. "I
doubt if our friends would prefer meeting our neighbours, whom they
don't know, to visiting with ourselves, whom they do--however egotistic
that may sound."

"I want to make things gay for you," explained Camellia; "and the
Latimers and the Elliots are very gay."--The Judge only lifted his
handsome eyebrows.--"And the Liscombes are lovely," went on Camellia.
"Mrs. Liscombe sings."

The Judge ran his hand through the thick, slightly graying locks above
his broad forehead. He did not need to tell us that he did not enjoy
hearing Mrs. Liscombe sing, and doubted if we should.

"Harry Hodgson recites--we always have him when we want to make things
go. Oh, he's not a professional, of course. He only gives readings among
his special friends. I believe I'll run and telephone him now. He's so
likely to have engagements." Camellia hastened away.

* * * * *

We could hardly tell the Judge we fully agreed with his feeling about
to-morrow's proposed festivities, neither could we discuss his wife's
tastes with him. He and we talked of other things until Camellia came
back, having made her engagement with Mr. Harry Hodgson, and so having
sealed our fate for the succeeding evening.

The Skeptic and the Philosopher spent much of the following day--it was
a legal holiday--with the Judge in his private den up on the third
floor. This, as Camellia showed us once when the men were away, was a
big, bare room--this was her characterization--principally fireplace,
easy-chairs, books and windows. I liked it better than any other place
in the house, for it was unencumbered with useless furniture of any
sort, and the view from its windows was much finer than that from
below stairs.

"But we're not invited up here, you observe," was Camellia's comment. "I
don't come into it once a month. The Judge spends his evenings
here--when I