een going to an important party, instead of merely to a quiet
dinner with her brother and his wife; but then, expecting Mark to make
a fourth, she wished to look her very best, and flattered herself she
had succeeded.

Although she sometimes longed for the power to add a few inches to her
stature, she realized that she had already much to be thankful for.
Suppose, for example, that her eyebrows had been as fair as her hair,
or even worse, her eyelashes, which as it happened were satisfactorily
black.

Mr. Lawrence Faversham, barrister-at-law, was thirty-two years of age,
and rather short, although he always held his head in the air as if he
were doing his best to appear taller. Hearing the street door bell
ring, Mrs. Lawrence Faversham waylaid Carrissima on the stairs and
insisted on taking her to gaze at little Victor, aged two, peacefully
sleeping in the nursery.

"Mark's late as usual," exclaimed Lawrence, as his sister presently
sailed into the drawing-room. "Ten minutes past eight," he added,
taking her hand.

He had fair hair, a long narrow face and sloping shoulders. Whether he
was sitting down or standing up, there always seemed to be something
stiff, self-important and formal about him.

"Mark wasn't due at King's Cross until tea-time," said Phoebe, a pretty
brunette, several inches taller than her husband and seven years
younger. "I wanted him to sleep here to-night, and really I cannot
imagine why he refused."

"Not very complimentary to us," answered Lawrence, "to prefer to go to
an hotel!"

"And," Phoebe explained, "he is off to Paris to-morrow morning."

"Well, I wish to goodness he would come soon if he's coming at all,"
grumbled Lawrence.

"Oh, of course, he's certain to be here," urged Phoebe, not liking to
begin dinner without her brother, who might provokingly arrive as soon
as they sat down; while on the other hand, her three years' experience
of married life had taught her that it was undesirable to keep Lawrence
waiting. When half-past eight struck, however, she could restrain his
impatience no longer; the three went to the dining-room, and
Carrissima, with a sense of profound disappointment, sat down at the
round table opposite the empty chair.

Although Phoebe did her utmost to spin out the meal by eating with
tantalizing and hygienic slowness, it ended without any sign of the
absentee, and at last she felt bound to return to the drawing-room,
where she was followed ten minutes