"The Greek--I told you--"

"Oh--The Greek--!" It was slow and hesitant. It spoke volumes for Miss
Stone's state of mind. Hours of Greek history were in it, and long rows
of tombs and temples--the Parthenon of gods and goddesses, with a few
outlying scores of heroes and understudies. "The--Greek," she repeated,
softly.

"The Greek," said the woman, with decision. "He has asked for Betty and
for me. I cannot see him, of course."

"You have the club," said Miss Stone, in soft assent.

"I have the club--in ten minutes." Her brow wrinkled. "You will kindly
see him--"

"And Betty--?" said Miss Stone, waiting.

"The child must see him. Yes, of course. She would be heart-broken--You
drive at three," she added, without emphasis.

"We drive at three," repeated Miss Stone.

She moved quietly away, her grey gown a bit of shimmering in the
gorgeous rooms. She had been chosen for the very qualities that made
her seem so curiously out of place--for her gentleness and unassuming
dignity, and a few ancestors. The country had been searched for a
lady--so much the lady that she had never given the matter a thought.
Miss Stone was the result. If Betty had charm and simplicity and
instinctive courtesy toward those whom she met, it was only what she saw