At the end of the month, when it was cool enough to make an open fire
seem the most cheerful of companions, Madame had them all at her own
table. Juliet was surpassingly lovely in her first long gown, of ivory-
tinted chiffon, ornamented only by hand embroidery and a bit of deep-
toned lace. Her wavy hair was gathered into a loose knot, from which
tiny tendrils escaped to cling about her face. Madame had put a pink
rose into her hair, slipped another into her belt, and had been well
pleased with the work of her own hands.

After dinner, while Juliet played piquet with the Colonel, and Doctor
Jack sat quietly in the shadow, where he could watch every play of light
and shade upon the girl's lovely changing face, Allison drew Madame into
the library and quietly closed the door.

"Aunt Francesca," he said, without preliminary, "I've been more kinds of
a fool in a few months than most men can manage to be in a lifetime."

"Yes," Madame agreed, with a cool little smile.

"Where is Rose?" he demanded.

"Rose," replied Madame, lightly, "has gone away."

"I know that," he flashed back. "I realise it every day and every hour
of my life. I asked where she was."

"And I," answered Madame, imperturbably, "have told you. She is simply
'away.'"