motoring. There was a choice collection of fine cars in the grouping on
the lawn, and Blount had just awakened a sleepy chauffeur to ask him to
uncover and exhibit the engine of a freshly imported Italian machine,
when a stir at the veranda entrance told him that at least a few of the
dancing guests were leaving early.

Being more curious at the moment about the mechanism of the Italian
motor than he was about people, he did not realize that he was an
intruder until the chauffeur hastily replaced the engine bonnet and
began to get his car ready for the road. Blount stepped back when the
little group on the veranda came down the steps preceded by a club
footman who was calling the number of the car. And it was not until he
was turning away that he found himself face to face with a very
beautiful and very clear-eyed young woman who was buttoning an
automobile dust-coat up under her chin.

"Patricia!" he burst out. And then: "For Heaven's sake! you don't mean
to tell me that you have been here all evening?"

Her slow smile gave the impression, not quite of frigidity perhaps, but
of that quality of serene self-possession which strangers sometimes
mistook for coldness.

"Why shouldn't I be here?" she asked. "Didn't you know that the
Cranfords--the people who are entertaining--are old friends of ours?"

Blount shook his head. "No, I didn't know it; and because I didn't, I
have lost an entire evening."

"Oh, no; you shouldn't say that," she protested. "The evening was yours