"My sweet child," said Captain Fitzgerald, when he was seated beside his
daughter in her brougham, rolling down the Champs-Elysées, "you must not
be so grateful; he won't let you out again if you are."

"Oh, papa!" said Theodora.

They arrived at the Ritz just at the right moment. It was a lovely
night, but rather cold, so there were no diners in the garden, and the
crowd from the restaurant extended even into the hall.

It was an immense satisfaction to Dominic Fitzgerald to walk through
them all with this singularly beautiful young woman, and to remark the
effect she produced, and his cup of happiness was full when they came
upon a party at the lower end by the door; prominent, as hostess, being
Jane Anastasia McBride--the fabulously rich American widow.

In a second of time he reviewed the situation; a faint coldness in his
manner would be the thing to draw--and it was; for when he had greeted
Mrs. McBride without gush, and presented his daughter with the air of
just passing on, the widow implored them with great cordiality to leave
their solitary meal and join her party. Nor would she hear of any
refusal.

The whole scene was so novel and delightful to Theodora she cared not at
all whether her father accepted or no, so long as she might sit quietly
and observe the world.

Mrs. McBride had perceived immediately that the string of pearls round
Mrs. Josiah Brown's neck could not have cost less than nine thousand
pounds, and that her frock, although so simple, was the last and most