I'm not allowed out yet, in this cold weather, after an attack of
"flu"; but my husband will call this afternoon on the chance of finding
you in, carrying a warm invitation to you both to "waive ceremony" and
dine with us at Valley House _en famille_.

Looking forward to meeting you,

Yours most cordially,

Constance Annesley-Seton.

"Sweet of her, isn't it?" Annesley exclaimed when she and Knight had read
the letter through.

Knight glanced at his wife quizzically, opened his lips to speak, and
closed them. Perhaps he thought it would be unwise as well as wrong to
disturb the girl's faith in Lady Annesley-Seton's disinterestedness.

"Yes, it's _real_ sweet!" he said, exaggerating his American accent, but
keeping a grave face.

They were duly "at home" that afternoon, though they had intended to go
out, and the caller found them in a private sitting room filled with
flowers, suggesting much money and a love of spending it. Annesley had
put on Knight's favourite frock, one of the "model dresses" he had chosen
for her in their whirlwind rush through Bond Street, a white cloth
trimmed with narrow bands of dark fur; and she had never looked prettier.

Lord Annesley-Seton, a tall thin man of the eagle-nosed soldier type,