ough her sick
and weary spirit rose whenever there was the rush of a motor-car to the
curb or the footstep of a man on the steps outside, she knew now that he
was not coming. Hope deferred had exhausted her, but hope dead was far,
far worse. He was not coming.

It was almost half-past ten when a bell-boy approached. Was it Miss
Sheridan? Mr. Christopher Liggett had been called out of town, and
would try to see Mrs. Melrose in a day or two.

Norma turned upon him a white face of fatigue.

"Is Mr. Liggett on the telephone?"

"No, Miss. He just telephoned a message."

The boy retired, and Norma went slowly upstairs, and slowly made her
preparations for sleep. But the blazing summer dawn, smiting the city at
four o'clock, found her still sitting at the window, twirling a tassel
of the old-fashioned shade in her cold fingers, and staring with haggard
eyes into space.

CHAPTER XX

More than a week later Annie gave a luncheon to a dozen women, and
telephoned Norma beforehand, with a request that the girl come early
enough to help her with name cards.

"These damnable engagement luncheons," said Aunt Annie, limping about
the long table, and grumbling at everything as she went. Annie had
wrenched her ankle in alighting from her car, and was cross with nagging
pain. "Here, put Natalie next to Leslie, Norma; no, that puts the
Gunnings together. I'll give you Miss Blanchard--but you don't speak
French! Here, give me your pencil--and confound these things
anyway----Fowler," she said to the butler, "I don't like to see a thing
like that on the table--carry that away, please; and here, get somebody
to help you change this, that won't do! That's all right--only I want
this as you had it day before yesterday--and don't use those, get the
glass ones----"

And so fussing and changing and criticizing, Annie went away, and Norma
followed her up to her bedroom.

"I'm wondering when we're going to give _you_ an engagement luncheon,
Norma," said the hostess, in a whirl of rapid dressing. "Who's ahead
now?"

"Oh--nobody!" Norma answered, with a mirthless laugh. She had been
listless and pale for several days, and did not seem herself at all.

"Forrest Duer, is it?"

"Oh, good heavens--Aunt Annie! He's twenty-one!"

"Is that all--he's such a big whale!----Don't touch my hair, Phoebe,
it'll do very well!" said Annie to the maid. "Well, don't be in too much
of a hurry, Norma," she went on kindly. "Nothing like being sure