attie with her dinner. She had accepted before she asked who were
the invited guests. Beattie, who was evidently quite guileless in the
matter, told her at once that Mrs. Clarke was among them. Rosamund said
nothing, and appeared to be looking forward to the twenty-eighth. She
even got a new gown for it, and Dion began to feel that he had made a
mistake in supposing that Rosamund had long ago decided not to know Mrs.
Clarke. He was very glad, for he had often felt uncomfortable about Mrs.
Clarke, who, he supposed, must have believed that his wife did not wish
to meet her, as her reiterated desire to make Rosamund's acquaintance
had met with no response. She had, he thought, shown the tact of a lady
and of a thorough woman of the world in not pressing the point, and in
never seeking to continue her acquaintance, or dawning friendship, with
him since his wife had come back to town. He felt a strong desire now
to be pleasant and cordial to her, and to show her how charming and
sympathetic his Rosamund was. He looked forward to this dinner as he
seldom looked forward to any social festivity.

On the twenty-sixth of November Robin had a cold! On the twenty-seventh
it was worse, and he developed a little hard cough which was rather
pathetic, and which seemed to surprise and interest him a good deal.
Rosamund was full of solicitude. On the night of the twenty-seventh she
said she would sit up with Robin. The nurse protested, but Rosamund was
smilingly firm.

"I want you to have a good night, Nurse," she said. "You're too devoted
and take too much out of yourself. And, besides, I shouldn't sleep.
I should be straining my ears all the time to hear whether my boy was
coughing or not."

Nurse had to give in, of course. But Dion was dismayed when he heard of
the project.

"You'll be worn out!" he exclaimed.

"No, I shan't But even if I were it wouldn't matter."

"But I want you to look your radiant self for Beattie's dinner."

"Oh--the dinner!"

It seemed she had forgotten it.

"Robin comes first," she said firmly, after a moment of silence.

And she sat up that night in an arm-chair by the nursery fire,
ministering at intervals to the child, who seemed impressed and
heartened in his coughings by his mother's presence.

On the following day she was rather tired, the cough was not abated, and
when Dion came back from business he learnt that she had telegraphed to
Beattie to give up the dinner. He was very much disappoin