widened into smiling warning. His open and boyish admiration was a
sort of joke between them. Yet in this second, as he craned his
neck to get a glimpse of the approaching guests, a sudden thought
was born in her. Honour had compelled her to a generous policy
with Ward. She had held his admiration firmly in check, she had
maintained a big-sister attitude that was as wholesome for herself
as for him.

But here, she thought with sudden satisfaction, might be her
answer to his grandmother's snubs, might be the realization of her
own ambition, after all. Ward was but four years her junior, and
Ward would be Richard Carter's heir.

No, that was nonsense, of course. And yet she played with the
thought amusedly, enjoying the vision of the old lady's anger and
confusion, and of the world's amazement at the masterly move of
the quiet secretary. Richard would be generous, thought Harriet
idly, Isabelle philosophical and indifferent, but how old Madame
Carter would writhe!

"It's the Bellamys and their crowd," said Ward, watching the
approach of newcomers. "Look at that man with them, that fellow
with the hair--that's Blondin! That's the man I was telling you
about the other night, the man whose name I couldn't remember!"

"WHO?"

Harriet did not know whether she said it or screamed it. She lost
all consciousness of her surroundings and her neighbours for a few
terrible seconds; her mouth was dry, her throat constricted, and a