Mrs. De Peyster again gave her cousin a suspicious look.

"Olivetta, have you been allowing M. Dubois to pay you any more
attention?"

"No, no,--of course not," cried Olivetta, and a sudden color tinted
the too-early autumn of her cheeks. "Do you think, after what you
said--"

"M. Dubois is a very good artist, but--"

"I understand, Cousin Caroline," Olivetta put in hastily. "I think
too much of your position to think of such a thing. Since you--since
then--I have not spoken to him, and have only bowed to him once."

"We will say no more about it," returned Mrs. De Peyster; and she
kissed Olivetta with her duchess-like kindness. "By the by, my dear,
your comb is on the floor."

"So it is. It's always falling out."

Olivetta picked it up, put it into place, and with nervous hands tried
to press into order loose-flying locks of her rather scanty hair.

Mrs. De Peyster arose; her worry about her missing son prompted her
to seek the relief of movement. "I think I shall take a turn about the
house to see that everything is being properly closed. Would you like
to come with me?"