me. She says that
she's already under great obligations--and that her own little bank
account is sufficient for her needs. Then, too, she can use all of her
new things in her trousseau, and it does seem rather sensible, doesn't
it?"

Diana had said nothing to Sophie of the meeting with Anthony in the
empty house. It was an experience too sacred for discussion. But Sophie
had guessed much. Anthony's continued absence, Diana's restlessness, her
haggard eyes, her insistent tenderness and care of Bettina, showed the
sympathetic and anxious friend that something unusual had occurred, and
that Diana was fighting a tremendous battle alone.

"Just let things run on here," Diana said, "as they always do. You can
take my place as Bettina's chaperon, and Delia will take care of the
house. I shan't be missed, and I can--get a perspective on the
situation."

Sophie protested. "It's too great a strain on you--you'd better send
Bettina away--she and I could have a little trip somewhere."

"No, it is I who must go," Diana insisted. "Bettina must get acquainted
with Anthony's friends. If he is going to marry her, he must be proud of
her. You know that, Sophie," sharply, "it won't do for him to take a
girl as the mistress of his home whom nobody ever heard of, and who
could be criticized."

Sophie rubbed her fingers lightly across Diana's forehead. "You think
only of Anthony--do you never think of yourself?"

Diana stood up. "It's because I think of how foolish I have been," she
said, "that I can get no rest. I should never have come back to America,
Sophie."

"But, dearest-dear, how could you know?"

"I couldn't know. But, oh, I wish that I had never come."

Thus it happened that Sophie and Bettina had gone into town, and the
primrose gown and the little serge suit and the new hats and the five
pairs of shoes, together with a wonderful creation for the yacht club
dance, had been sent out, and tried on, and pronounced perfect.

Sophie's taste had supplemented Bettina's meager funds. From her own
store of exquisite laces and brocades, of buckles and bows, she had
added finishing touches to frocks which might otherwise have been
commonplace.

When, therefore, on the day after her adventure with Justin Bettina took
off her wrap in the cloak room of the yacht club, Sara Duffield drew a
sharp breath of amazement.

"Will you look at that gown, Doris?" she said to her placid friend.
"Would any one but an artist have dared to put