"Not since they sailed," said Peter, wincing internally.

"Not really?" said the bridesmaid. "Surely you've heard of the baby?"

"No." Lines were coming into Peter's face which Miss De Voe had never
before seen.

"How strange. The letters must have gone astray. But you have written
him?"

"I did not know his address."

"Then you really haven't heard of the little baby--why, it was born
two--no, three years ago--and of Helen's long ill-health, and of their
taking a villa on the Riviera, and of how they hope to come home this
spring?"

"No."

"Yes. They will sail in June if Helen is well enough. I'm to be
god-mother."

"If you were Mr. D'Alloi's chum, you must have known Ray Rivington,"
said Dorothy.

"Yes. But I've not seen him since we graduated. He went out West."

"He has just returned. Ranching is not to his taste."

"Will you, if you see him, say that I'm in New York and should like to