I do hate to see you running around with him, and I’d take twice as much interest in this dance and this unknown knight you’re bringing on for me if you’d just promise me that after Saturday night you’re done with Casper.”

“For heaven’s sake, Con, what’s gotten into you? I do believe there must be more in that church gesture of yours than you’re willing to own. I never saw you so particular before. What’s the matter with Casper? Just because he took a little too much liquor once and went with a girl you didn’t like. All men do things they grow out of. Besides, when a young man gets married he generally settles down. If he doesn’t, one can always get a divorce nowadays.”

“Doris!” Constance swung around toward her. “You’re not going to marry him, are you? And to marry anyone that way, talking about getting a divorce! You’ve never talked that way before! I’m sure your people are not that kind of people!”

“Oh, you and your kinds of people! What’s wrong with divorce, I’d like to know? Everybody’s doing it nowadays,” said Doris angrily. “But I didn’t say I was going to marry him, did I? But all the same you’re changed. I don’t know what it is, but you’re twice as finicky as you were before you went home this last time. If it’s religion I hope I don’t catch it. For goodness’ sake cut it out! After Saturday night you’ll understand that I’m really doing you a favor introducing you to such a talented man as Thurlow Wayne.”

“Thurlow Phelps Wayne, dearie. Don’t forget the Phelps. Is it hyphenated? Shall I have to call him Mr. Phelps-Wayne?” Constance’s tone was amused but there was a note of anxiety behind it. She really was worried about Doris, for she was becoming more and more absorbed in the young man whom Constance felt was utterly unworthy of her. She was still more worried when for answer Doris slammed out of the room angrily. It was not like Doris to lose her temper.

Nevertheless as they day of the dance approached, Constance’s mind turned toward the stranger with more than her usual distaste toward meeting someone against whom she was already prejudiced. What would he be like? How would he look? Was it conceivable that she could possibly enjoy the society of a man who was a friend of Casper Coulter?

Constance had by this time pretty well exorcised the memory of Seagrave, his blue flowers and strange conversation. She only thought of them occasionally, as one looks back to a book read or a picture seen which left a strong impression. Only, now and then, when she leaned forward to look out of her window and glanced down at the shrubs growing luxuriantly there, she had quick consciousness of the little dead flowers she had thrown there, as if it were a grave below her, hiding something that had once been dear.

But Friday night she had a sharp, vivid dream of Seagrave—dreamed she was telling him about the pearls, dreamed that his look had been even graver, sadder than she had feared, dreamed that her burden was even heavier than before—and woke up with a sharp memory of the sorrow in his face.

His look lingered with her through the day, though outwardly she was for the most part her cheerful, crisp self, utterly sure of her own position in life, utterly strong and breezy and hard and bright. But in her heart a war was being waged.

Somehow the renewed picture of Seagrave had strengthened her dislike toward meeting Thurlow Wayne and going to that dance with him. The dance itself meant nothing to her. She had danced all her life. She was not especially interested in going, even without him, but as the day waned and the time for meeting her escort arrived, she developed such a strong dislike toward going that she half contemplated going to bed and pretending to be sick. Only somehow she could not quite bring herself to play such a trick on Doris of whom she was really very fond, and who was obviously so full of delightful anticipation that she could hardly contain herself.

So Constance arrayed herself in garments calculated to be the most impressive. Severe black satin and her string of pearls. She hesitated a long time about the pearls. Somehow she shrank from the pearls because of the memories they brought up, which still were accompanied by a keen feeling of humiliation. Then suddenly she realized that if she were ever to get over that nonsense, now was the time to do it, so she quickly clasped them around her neck and turned away from the mirror. She had not worn them since Easter Day, and somehow she did not want to remember that now.