asses were
brought in and filled. Altogether, then, instead of being a solemn,
dignified affair, such as one might have expected, it was a
tremendously jolly dinner--a little rowdy, perhaps, but delightfully
friendly. If I had entered the dining room as Old Tom Middleton's
daughter, "who actually used to live over a livery stable, my dear,"
it was not so I left it; for the nimbus of the sacred name of Porter
had already begun to shed its beautiful light on my many graces and
social accomplishments. Indeed, when I retired with my hostess to
the drawing room, it was to hold a sort of reception; Mrs. Tudor
Carstairs vied with Mrs. Sanderson-Spear in assurances of regard,
"Choicest Flowers" expressed approval, the German baroness, bless
her, conferred the distinction of a motherly kiss. And Blakely's
mother was so gracious, so kind and considerate, it was hard to
believe we had faced each other, five hours before, with something
very like hatred in our eyes.

When Blakely and Dad, and the other men joined us, I was so happy I
could have kicked both my slippers to the ceiling. I might have
disgraced myself doing it, too, if the third son of the English
baronet hadn't come up just then to felicitate me. He would have
done it charmingly if he hadn't felt constrained to add that
Americans always say "dook" instead of "duke," that nobody present
seemed to realize the proper way to address a nephew of the Czar was
to call him Monseigneur, that the Olympic games in London had been
conducted admirably, arid that he didn't believe in marriage,
anyway.

But the sweetest thing to me of all that wonderful evening was to
see the love and gratitude in Blakely's eyes when he looked at his
mother; for a man who doesn't love his mother misses much, and I
love Blakely so tenderly, I couldn't bear to have him miss the last
then that makes for contentment and happiness.

Chapter Eleven

When I awoke, late next morning, it was to find myself, if not
famous, at least conspicuous; in the Los Angeles newspaper Valentine
brought me with my coffee, much space was devoted to the ducal
dinner.

GRAND DUKE SMASHES CHAMPAGNE GLASSES

Miss Middleton Toasted in Truly Royal Fashion by Distinguished
Nephew of Russia's Reigning Czar.

Brilliant Dinner Reaches Climax in Shower of Costly Crystal While
Hostess Smiles Approval.

Disgusting as it was, I couldn't help laughing at the pen-and-ink
sketch which accompanied it--a sketch of the duk