that. And what had lain
always in the back of her mind as a half-formed intention, had become a
self-admitted purpose during the motor ride. So as she watched them in
the waltz, seasoned artificialist as she was, Katharine for a breath had
had need of all her address to keep the ball of conversation sparklingly
a-roll. Her natural assurance, however, came quickly to her aid. She had
been an acknowledged beauty too many seasons--had known John Valiant, or
believed she had, too long and too well--to allow the swift keen edge of
trepidation that had touched her to cool into prescience.

In another moment the waltz fainted out, to be succeeded by a
_deux-temps_, and presently the host, in his crimson cloak, was doffing
his plumed hat before her. Circling the polished floor in the maze,
there was something gratefully like former days in the assured touch,
the true and ready guidance. The intrusive question faded. He was the
John Valiant she had always known, of flashing repartee and graceful
compliment, yet with a touch of dignity, too--as befitted the lord of a
manor--which sat well upon him. After a decorous dozen of rounds, she
took his arm and allowed her perfect figure to be conducted through the
various rooms of the ground floor, chatting in quite the old-time way,
till a new gallant claimed her.

The mellow strings made on their merry tune, and at length the
_Washington Post_ marched all in flushed unity of purpose to the great
muslin-walled porch with its array of tables groaning under viands
concocted by Aunt Daphne for the delectation of the palate-weary:
layer-cakes, furry-brown with chocolate, or saffron with orange icing;
fruit-cake richer than an Indian begum; angel-cake as white (as the
major was to remark) as innocence and almost as sweet as the lady upon
whom he pressed it at the moment; yellow jumbles, kisses that crumbled
at a touch, and all nameless toothsome inventions for which new-laid
eggs are beaten and golden citron sliced.

And then once more the waltz-strain supervened and in the yellow parlor
joy was again unconfined. Among the masculine contingent, perhaps, the
same catholicity of age no longer prevailed, certain of the elders
showing an inclination toward one end of the front porch, now hazing
with the fragrance of Havanas. But the dowagers' fans plied on, the
rose-corners echoed their light laughter and the couples footed it as
though midnight was yet unreached and dawn as far afield as Jud