for the remainder of the season,
under the care of a specialist.

"Looks as if they were having a big affair of some sort up there. I
guess Mrs. F. Rockridge has recovered from her nervous break-down! Come,
get up and see."

"Oh, I'll take your word for it," I replied indifferently. But I won't
say what my next act was after Edith had gone out of the room. You may
be sure I didn't immediately drop off to sleep.

I looked for one of Breck's ill-penned letters the next morning, but
none came. No wire or telephone message either. Not until five o'clock
in the afternoon did I receive any explanation of the lights at
Grassmere. Edith had been to her bridge club, and came rushing up on the
veranda, eager and excited. There were little bright spots in the center
of each cheek. Edith's a handsome woman, thirty-five or eight, I think,
and very smart in appearance. She has dark brilliant eyes, and a quality
in her voice and manner that makes you feel as if there were about eight
cylinders and all in perfect order, too, chugging away underneath her
shiny exterior.

"Where's the mail?" she asked of me. I was lying on the wicker couch.

"Oh, inside, I guess, on the hall table. I don't know. Why?"

"Wait a minute," she said, and disappeared. She rejoined me an instant
later, with two circulars and a printed post-card.

"Is this all there is?" Edith demanded again, and I could see the red
spots on her cheeks grow deeper.

"That's all," I assured her. "Expecting something?"

"Have you had any trouble with Breck?" she flashed out at me next.

"What are you driving at, Edith?" I inquired. "What's the matter?"

"Mrs. Sewall is giving a perfectly enormous ball at Grassmere on the
twenty-fourth, and we're left out. That's the matter!" She tossed the
mail on the table.

"Oh," I said, "our invitations will come in the morning probably. There
are often delays."

"No, sir, I know better. The bridge club girls said their invitations
came yesterday afternoon. I can't understand it. We certainly were on
Mrs. Sewall's list when she gave that buffet-luncheon three years ago.
And now we're not! That's the bald truth of it. It was terribly
embarrassing this afternoon--all of them telling about what they were
going to wear--it's going to be a masquerade--and I sitting there like
a dummy! Helene McClellan broke the news to me. She blurted right out,
'Oh, do tell us, Edith,' she said to me, 'is Mrs. Sewall's ball to
announce your sister's