oline.

"Yes, I would."

"Mary was always fickle, you know," he laughed, glancing at her
clinging hand.

And, indeed, Caroline found him far more winning than the sulky,
silent Joan, and leaned confidingly against him as they climbed the
stone steps and passed through the rich, dark-paneled hall, hung
with bright pictures, filled with bowls of flowers. Several men,
uniformed like the gardener, stood about the steps and terraces;
two stood by the door of a large, airy dining-room filled with
hurrying waiters. About a long silver-laden table some twenty men
and women, cool in lawn and lace and white flannel, were seated,
eating and talking gaily. At the head was a large, tall man in a
snowy vest; evidently the host, by his smiling, interested attention
to everybody's wants. At his right was a vacant chair, and toward
this Joan of Arc directed her steps. She had caught Caroline's hand
in hers, and, as Bluelegs bent and whispered in the tall man's ear,
she added:

"I think, doctor, if the little girl stays by me she will feel less
shy, perhaps."

"Certainly, certainly--by all means. A good thought, Miss Aitken, a
good thought," he answered in a rich, kind voice. He shook hands
with Caroline warmly.

"So you find our grounds attractive?" he asked politely.

She nodded, a little shyly. All this company, so freshly dressed, so
ceremoniously served, so utterly unconscious of her presence,
embarrassed her a little. For not one of the ladies and
gentlemen--there were no children--paid the slightest attention to
her arrival, even when a place was made for her by Joan and a mug of
milk procured. They talked, or, as she noticed now, sat, many of
them, listless and silent, playing with their rings and bracelets,
answering only with monosyllables the questions of the large,
cordial doctor.

"Where is Marie Antoinette?" she whispered to her friend, who seemed
nearer, suddenly, than these cold table-mates.

"She does not eat with us," said Joan, helping her to chicken and
green peas, and beginning her own meal.

The doctor turned to them, having recommended some asparagus to the
stolid lady at his left.

"I am glad to see your appetite so good, Miss Aitken," he observed,
lowering his voice a little, "at this rate we shall have no excuse
for keeping you much longer."

"You have had none for six months," she replied curtly.

"I am sorry you feel so bitterly," he said, "but you know I can not
agree with you there. You w