laughed.

It was perhaps the reaction of her gaiety that recalled to her mind her
telegram. The telegram had been her promised answer after she had had
time to consider a suggestion made to her by a Mr. Howard Quarrier. The
last week at Shotover permitted reflection; and while her telegram was
no complete answer to the suggestion he had made, it contained material
of interest in the eight words: "I will consider your request when you
arrive.

"I wonder if you know Howard Quarrier?" she said.

After a second's hesitation he replied: "Yes--a little. Everybody does."

"You do know him?"

"Only at--the club."

"Oh, the Lenox?"

"The Lenox--and the Patroons."

Preoccupied, driving with careless, almost inattentive perfection, she
thought idly of her twenty-three years, wondering how life could have
passed so quickly leaving her already stranded on the shoals of an
engagement to marry Howard Quarrier. Then her thoughts, errant, wandered
half the world over before they returned to Siward; and when at length
they did, and meaning to be civil, she spoke again of his acquaintance
with Quarrier at the Patroons Club--the club itself being sufficient to
settle Siward's status in every community.