e Jack the other night, and--"

"Going to give a tea!--and the sister of--Well, then, she certainly
isn't the Miss Grayson I know. Don't you answer her, Corinne, until I
find out who she is."

"I'll tell you who she is," burst out Jack. His face was aflame now.
Never had he listened to such discourtesy. He could hardly believe his
ears.

"It wouldn't help me in the least, my dear Jack; so don't you begin. I
am the best judge of who shall come to my house. She may be all right,
and she may not, you can never tell in a city like New York, and you
can't be too particular. People really do such curious pushing things
now-a-days." This to Garry. "Now serve tea, Parkins. Come in all of
you."

Jack was on the point of blazing out in indignation over the false
position in which his friend had been placed when Peter's warning voice
rang in his ears. The vulgarity of the whole proceeding appalled him,
yet he kept control of himself.

"None for me, please, aunty," he said quietly. "I will join you later,
Garry," and he mounted the stairs to his room.

CHAPTER VIII

Peter was up and dressed when Miss Felicia arrived, despite the early
hour. Indeed that gay cavalier was the first to help the dear lady off
with her travelling cloak and bonnet, Mrs. McGuffey folding her veil,
smoothing out her gloves and laying them all upon the bed in the
adjoining room--the one she kept in prime order for Miss Grayson's use.

The old fellow was facing the coffee-urn when he told her Jack's story
and what he himself had said in reply, and how fine the boy was in
his beliefs, and how well-nigh impossible it was for him to help him,
considering his environment.

The dear lady had listened with her eyes fixed on Peter. It was but
another of his benevolent finds; it had been the son of an old music
teacher the winter before, and a boy struggling through college last
spring;--always somebody who wanted to get ahead in one direction or
another, no matter how impracticable his ambitions might be. This
young man, however, seemed different; certain remarks had a true ring.
Perhaps, after all, her foolish old brother--foolish when his heart
misled him--might have found somebody at last who would pay for the time
he spent upon him. The name, too, had a familiar sound. She was quite
sure the aunt must be the same rather over-dressed persistent young
widow who had flitted in and out of Washington society the last year of
her own stay in the ca