'La!' cried Katie wickedly, 'such goings-on as I have seen here tonight! Natalie making eyes at the Count, and our Theo positively throwing herself at Mr. Whatever-his-name-is from Carolina. I blushed for you, my pet—truly I did.'

'I did not throw myself at his head!' cried Theo indignantly. 'I was but being polite.'

Natalie nodded, her plain little face showing annoyance. 'You must not say such silly things, Katie. I only make nice talk with le comte de Joliette to make him feel at ease, and Theo the same for Mr. Alston'. She opened her reticule and, extracting a handkerchief to be embroidered, inserted a needleful of silk. Natalie's hands were never idle.

Katie tossed her yellow curls. 'Oh, to be sure—I was teasing. Still, it was rarely diverting eo watch Theo'. She giggled, drew down the corners of her mouth, and mimicked Alston's ponderous speech. '"Indeed, Miss Burr, I find your appearance not inferior to that of some of our reigning belles." What a compliment! Had it been I, I should have slapped him.'

Theo laughed. 'I nearly did. Still, it's doubtless very good for my vanity to be snubbed.'

Katie suddenly sobered, touched Theo's hand. 'You have no vanity. You're so pretty and accomplished, and you—you have so much.'

'So much?' Theo repeated slowly, squeezing Katie's hand in return. She had never thought of comparing her material circumstances with those of Katie, who lived over a shop in Pearl Street with a crotchety grandmother, and laughingly confessed to scrimping for months to buy the material for one new dress. Theo had always taken her possessions for granted : the horses and servants and abundant table, this new pianoforte, all the splendor of luxury that made Richmond Hill. Then the new gown tonight—it had cost twenty pounds—and the beautiful necklace. These were all part of the safe, pleasant scheme of things, part of her father's cherishing care.

But if she were deprived of everything material, it would not matter, she thought. She and her father could see more of each other if they dispensed with the elaborate panoply of living. There would be fewer people to distract them.

She pictured Aaron and herself relegated to a tumbledown cottage in the woods. She would cook his food over a romantically crackling fire; she could tend him and make him more comfortable than might any number of servants. She saw herself busy, happy, indispensable.

And Aaron—she realized with a shock. What would he be doing? Impossible to imagine him chopping wood or watering stock. Even more impossible to see him clothed in sweaty homespun. Her idyll was ridiculous.

She smiled unconsciously, and Katie trilled with laughter. 'I vow you're thinking of John Vanderlyn. On him, at least, your beauty is not wasted. He stares at you ravenously.'

'Does he?' She was startled. 'I hadn't noticed.'

'Lawks!' Kitty's pretty jaw dropped. 'I truly believe you hadn't. You are the queerest girl. Hark! Here come the gentlemen now'. She straightened against the lyre-backed chair, crossed her feet demurely, and unfurling her ivory fan fluttered it with airy grace.