there was something to tell.

"I was just going to," said Honora, hastily, thinking of Trixton Brent
waiting in the ladies' parlour. "I took lunch at Delmomico's with Mr.
Grainger, and Mr. Brent, and Mrs. Kame--"

"Cecil Grainger?" demanded Mrs. Holt.

Honora trembled.

"Yes," she said.

"I knew his father and mother intimately," said Mrs. Holt, unexpectedly.
"And his wife is a friend of mine. She's one of the most executive women
we have in the 'Working Girls' Association,' and she read a paper today
that was masterful. You know her, of course."

"No," said Honora, "I haven't met her yet."

"Then how did you happen to be lunching with her husband?

"I wasn't lunching with him, Mrs. Holt," said Honora; "Mr. Brent was
giving the lunch."

"Who's Mr. Brent?" demanded Mrs. Holt. "One of those Quicksands people?"

"He's not exactly a Quicksands person. I scarcely know how to describe
him. He's very rich, and goes abroad a great deal, and plays polo. That's
the reason he has a little place at Quicksands. He's been awfully kind
both to Howard and me," she added with inspiration.