to see you. But no dancing, I think."

Kitty Meryon's mouth drooped like a pouting child's. Was it for
the lost dance, or the lost soldier lying out on the hills in the
dying sunset. Who could tell? In either case it was pretty enough
for the illustrated papers.

"How sad! Such a dear boy. We shall miss him at tennis." Then
brightly; "Well, we'll have to put the dance off for a week, but
come tomorrow anyhow."



II


Next evening I went into Lady Meryon's flower-scented
drawing-room. The electric fans were fluttering and the evening
air was cool. Five or six pretty girls and as many men made up
the party - Kitty Meryon the prettiest of them all, fashionably
undressed in faint pink and crystal, with a charming smile in
readiness, all her gay little flags flying in the rich man's
honour. I am no vainer than other men, but I saw that. Whatever
her charm might be it was none for me. What could I say to
interest her who lived in her foolish little world as one shut in
a bright bubble? And she had said the wrong word about young
Fitzgerald - I wanted Vanna, with her deep seeing eyes, to say
the right one and adjust those cruel values.

Governesses dine, it appeared, only to fill an unexpected place,