"What detained you?" she asked kindly, as the girl turned on her
entrance.

"The symphony concert was not over until twenty-five minutes ago. Won't
you sit down, dear?" pulling forward a chair. "I must go on with my
dressing. My pink satin, Julie, thank you," as the French maid appeared.

"Are you dining out tonight?" in surprise. "I thought you told me you had
no engagement for this evening."

"I hadn't, mother. This invitation was quite unexpected," explained
Kathleen, arranging her hair with care. "On my return from the concert I
found this note from Miss Kiametia Grey asking me to fill a place and
prevent thirteen at her dinner tonight."

"I see." Mrs. Whitney inspected the dainty note-paper and forceful
handwriting through her gold lorgnette. The word of Miss Kiametia Grey
was as the law of the Medes and Persians to her many friends, and Mrs.
Whitney had a high regard for the wealthy spinster who cloaked her
warm-hearted impulsiveness under an erratic and often brusque manner.
"You cannot very well refuse. Who sent you those orchids?" pointing to a
handsome bouquet lying half out of its box on the bed.

"Sinclair Spencer," briefly. "Be careful, Julie, don't muss my hair,"
and discussing unimportant matters Kathleen hurried her dressing as much
as possible.

"Not knowing you were going out I told Henry he would not be needed
tonight," said Mrs. Whitney, suddenly waking up to the fact that Kathleen