intrusive, yet always by her side and at her beck and call, never at a
loss to do and say the right thing, Miller had wooed her in his own
masterful way, trampling down prejudice, suspicion, unbelief, until he
had gained his heritage--love. The specter of the past was
laid--involuntarily Kathleen shivered.

"Is Mademoiselle here?" asked the French maid, peering in uncertainly
from the hall door. She had rapped repeatedly and getting no response
had gone downstairs to look for Kathleen, only to be told that she was
in her own room.

"Come in, Julie, and turn on the electric switch," directed Kathleen, and
blinked as the room was suddenly flooded with light. Without rising she
removed her hat-pins and handed her hat and coat to the maid. "Just the
blue foulard tonight. What have you there?"

"Some flowers, mademoiselle," handing the box to Kathleen. "Captain
Miller left them at the door himself, and seeing me in the hall asked
that I give them to you at once." With a Frenchwoman's tact she busied
herself in getting out the blue foulard and pretended not to see the
blush and smile which accompanied Kathleen's opening of the box. She did
not speak again, helping Kathleen with deft fingers to finish her toilet,
and then stood back to contemplate the effect. "Will mademoiselle attend
the meeting tonight?" she asked.

"No, I am not a member of the Sisters in Unity. I had forgotten the club
was to meet here. Perhaps mother will need you now. Don't wait."

But the Frenchwoman lingered. "Mademoiselle," she began. "Mademoiselle."