He went into the other room and I sat by the fire and thought. You
remember that when I was planning Harold Valentine, I had imagined him
with a small, dark mustache, and deep, passionate eyes? Well, this
Mr. Grosvenor had both, or rather, all three. And he had the loveliest
smile, with no dimple. He was, I felt, exactly the sort of man I could
die for.

It was too tradgic that, with all the world to choose from, I had not
taken him instead of H.

We walked downstairs, so as not to give the elevator boy a chance to
talk, he said. But he was asleep again, and we got to the street and to
the taxicab without being seen.

Oh, I was very cheerful. When I think of it--but I might have known, all
along. Nothing went right with me that week.

Just before we got to the house he said:

"Goodnight and goodbye, little Barbara. I'll never forget you and this
evening. And save me a dance at your coming-out party. I'll be there."

I held out my hand, and he took it and kissed it. It was all perfectly
thrilling. And then we drew up in front of the house and he helped me
out, and my entire Familey had just got out of the motor and was lined
up on the pavment staring at us!

"All right, are you?" he said, as coolly as if they had not been
anywhere in sight. "Well, good night and good luck!" And he got into the