“You know better.  Isn’t he always sending you books and things?  He is not like those others.  What would Mr. Lancaster say?”

“Oh, Mr. Lancaster!  He has no right to say anything,” pouted the girl, her face clouding a little.  “Mr. Lancaster will say anything I want him to say,” she added as she caught sight of her mother’s unhappy expression.  “I wish you would not always be holding him up to me.  I like him, and he is awfully good to me—­much better than I deserve; but I get awfully tired of him sometimes:  he is so serious.  Sometimes I feel like breaking loose and just doing things.  I do!” She tossed her head and stamped her foot with impatience like a spoiled child.

“Well, there is Ferdy?—­” began her mother.

The girl turned on her.

“I thought we had an understanding on that subject, mamma.  If you ever say anything more about my marrying Ferdy, I will do things!  I vow I will!”

“Why, I thought you professed to like Ferdy, and he is certainly in love with you.”

“He certainly is not.  He is in love with Lou Caldwell as much as he could be in love with any one but himself; but if you knew him as well as I do you would know he is not in love with any one but Ferdy.”

Mrs. Yorke knew when to yield, and how to do it.  Her face grew melancholy and her voice pathetic as she protested that all she wished was her daughter’s happiness.

“Then please don’t mention that to me again,” said the girl.

The next second her daughter was leaning over her, soothing her and assuring her of her devotion.

“I want to invite him to dinner, mamma.”

Mrs. Yorke actually gasped.

“Nonsense!  Why, he would be utterly out of place.  This is not Ridgely.  I do not suppose he ever had on a dress-coat in his life!” Which was true, though Keith would not have cared a button about it.

“Well, we can invite him to lunch,” said Alice, with a sigh.

But Mrs. Yorke was obdurate.  She could not undertake to invite an unknown young man to her table.  Thus, the want of a dress-suit limited Mrs. Yorke’s hospitality and served a secondary and more important purpose for her.

“I wish papa were here; he would agree with me,” sighed the girl.

When the controversy was settled Miss Alice slipped off to gild the lily.  The care she took in the selection of a toilet, and the tender pats and delicate touches she gave as she turned before her cheval-glass, might have belied her declaration to her mother, a little while before, that she was indifferent to Mr. Keith, and might even have given some comfort to the anxious young man in the drawing-room below, who, in default of books, was examining the pictures with such interest.  He had never seen such a sumptuous house.

Meantime, Mrs. Yorke executed a manoeuvre.  As soon as Alice disappeared, she descended to the drawing-room.  But she slipped on an extra diamond ring or two.  Thus she had a full quarter of an hour’s start of her daughter.