At the Embassy? She looked at him vaguely: then she
remembered. Yes, they were dining that night at the Ascots',
with Strefford's cousin, the Duke of Dunes, and his wife, the
handsome irreproachable young Duchess; with the old gambling
Dowager Duchess, whom her son and daughter-in-law had come over
from England to see; and with other English and French guests of
a rank and standing worthy of the Duneses. Susy knew that her
inclusion in such a dinner could mean but one thing: it was her
definite recognition as Altringham's future wife. She was "the
little American" whom one had to ask when one invited him, even
on ceremonial occasions. The family had accepted her; the
Embassy could but follow suit.

"It's late, dear; and I've got to see someone on business
first," Strefford reminded her patiently.

"Oh, Streff--I can't, I can't!" The words broke from her
without her knowing what she was saying. "I can't go with
you--I can't go to the Embassy. I can't go on any longer like
this ...." She lifted her eyes to his in desperate appeal.
"Oh, understand-do please understand!" she wailed, knowing,
while she spoke, the utter impossibility of what she asked.

Strefford's face had gradually paled and hardened. From sallow
it turned to a dusky white, and lines of obstinacy deepened
between the ironic eyebrows and about the weak amused mouth.

"Understand? What do you want me to understand," He laughed.
"That you're trying to chuck me already?"