emained very busily engaged with her decorations.

"An impromptu party," she exclaimed. "I was shopping this morning--in
fact I was buying pots and pans for the cook--when somebody spoke to
me. And I recognised a university student whom I had known in
Petrograd after the first revolution--Marya Lanois, her name is----"

She moved aside and began to fuss with a huge bowl of crimson roses,
loosening the blossoms, freeing the foliage, and talking happily all
the while:

"Marya Lanois," she repeated, "--an interesting girl. And with her was
a man I had met--a pianist--Vanya Tchernov. They told me that another
friend of mine--a girl named Ilse Westgard--is now living in New York.
They couldn't dine with me, but they're coming to supper. So I also
called up Ilse Westgard, she's coming, too;--and I also asked your
friend, Mr. Estridge. So you see, Monsieur, we shall have a little
music and much valuable conversation, and then I shall give them some
supper----"

She stepped back from the piano, surveyed her handiwork critically,
then looked around at him for his opinion.

"Fine," he said. "How jolly your new house is"--glancing about the
room at the few well chosen pieces of antique furniture, the
harmonious hangings and comfortably upholstered modern pieces.

"It really is beginning to be livable; isn't it, Jim?" she ventured.
"Of course there are many things yet to buy----"

They leisurely made the tour of the white-panelled room, looking with
approval at the delicate Georgian furniture; the mezzotints; the
damask curtains of that beautiful red which has rose-tints in it, too;
the charming old French clock and its lovely gilded garniture; the
deep-toned ash-grey carpet under foot.

Before the mantel, with its wood fire blazing, they paused.

"It's so enchantingly homelike," she exclaimed. "I already love it
all. When I come in from shopping I just stand here with my hat and
furs on, and gaze about and adore everything!"

"Do you adore me, too?" he asked, laughing at her warmth. "You see I'm
becoming one of your fixtures here, also."

In her brown eyes the familiar irresponsible gaiety began to glimmer:

"I do adore you," she said, "but I've no business to."

"Why not?"

She seated herself on the sofa and cast a veiled glance at him,
enchantingly malicious.

"Do you think you know me well enough to adore me?" she inquired with
misleading gravity.

"Indeed I do----"

"Am I as easy to know as that? Jim, you