"Oh, dear me, yes," replied the old lady. "This is undoubtedly one of the
great hotels of the world. Everything passes through here sooner or
later, except perhaps, the law of righteousness. Here comes Horace, he's
not bearing it, I am sure. How do you do, Horace?" Penfield, admirably
dressed, slim, self-possessed and alert, bent over her hand, and nodded
to Hayden.

"I've just been granted an inspection of the new gown Edith Symmes has
ordered for Bea Habersham's ball," he said. "We've been at her
dressmaker's and she drove me here on her way home."

"I thought you looked pale," said Mrs. Ames, viewing him through the
inevitable lorgnon. "Go on, tell me all about it."

"I'm afraid the details are too harrowing," said Horace mildly. "The body
of the gown--isn't that what you call it--? the ground-work, you know--"

"Yes--yes, that's all right," nodded Mrs. Ames. "Go on--the body of the
gown--"

"Is of a sort of sickly, mustard-colored satin with chocolate-colored
trimmings, and wreaths of pink stuff and coral ornaments that look like
lobster-claws. Really, it gives you quite a turn just to see it; and
then, she has some kind of a grass-green weeping-willow tree that she is
going to wear in her hair. Really, the whole thing is pretty shuddery.
Haunts you, you can't throw it off." Penfield looked a trifle blue about
the mouth and so depressed that Hayden could not help laughing.

"Edith is going beyond herself," commented Mrs. Ames. "Some one ought to
marry her and reform her. Why not you, Horace?"

"'She killed a boy, she killed a man, why should she not kill me?'"
quoted Horace gloomily.

"Well, we'll have some luncheon and then you'll feel better," consoled
his hostess. "Here come the girls now."

Master of facial expression as he was, Horace could no more have helped
his jaw dropping than he could his eyes blinking as Marcia and the
Mariposa, followed by Wilfred Ames, came toward them. Hayden was
particularly struck by the fact that as the two girls walked down the
room laughing and talking, there was no suggestion in the manner of
either of their being strangers or even formal acquaintances. There was
the easy manner of old friendship between them, and he recalled again the
"Ydo" that Marcia had inadvertently spoken that day in the Park, and
pondered afresh.

Marcia looked to Hayden's eyes more charming than ever. The slightly
strained expression about the mouth and eyes, which always caused him a
pang,