rarest of tropical plants; shaded incandescent lamps sent their glow
from somewhere among the palms, and there was a suggestion of
fairy-land in the scene. If Quentin had a purpose in being
particularly assiduous in his attentions to Mlle. Gaudelet, he did
not suspect that he was making an implacable foe of Henri de
Cartier, the husband of another very charming young woman.
Unaccustomed to the intrigues of Paris, and certainly not aware that
Brussels copied the fashions of her bigger sister across the border
in more ways than one, he could not be expected to know that de
Cartier loved not his wife and did love the pretty Louise. Nor could
his pride have been convinced that the young woman at his side was
enjoying the tete-a-tete chiefly because de Cartier was fiercely
cursing the misfortune which had thrown this new element into
conflict. It may be unnecessary to say that Mrs. Garrison was
delighted with the unmistakable signs of admiration manifested by
the two young people.

It was late when Quentin reluctantly arose to make his adieux. He
had finished acknowledging the somewhat effusive invitations to the
houses of his new acquaintances, and was standing near Dorothy,
directly in front of a tall bank of palms. From one point of view
this collection of plants looked like a dense jungle, so thickly
were they placed on the porch at its darkest end. The light from a
drawing-room window shone across the front of the green mass, but
did not penetrate the recess near the porch rail. He was taking
advantage of a very brief opportunity, while others were moving
away, to tell her that Mile. Louise was fascinating, when her hand
suddenly clasped his arm and she whispered:

"Phil, there is a man behind those palms." His figure straightened,