“Louise Wentworth, vanity is a deadly sin,” said the other, smiling, “and we are told in the Commandments—­I forget which one—­to envy nothing of our neighbor’s.”

“He said he wanted to go to see you; that you had kindly invited him, and he wished very much to meet Mr. Lancaster,” said Mrs. Wentworth, blandly.

“Yes, I am sure they will like each other,” said Mrs. Lancaster, with dignity.  “Mamma also is very anxious to see him.  She used to know him when—­when he was a boy, and liked him very much, too, though she would not acknowledge it to me then.”  She laughed softly at some recollection.

“He spoke of your mother most pleasantly,” declared Mrs. Wentworth, not without Mrs. Lancaster noticing that she was claiming to stand as Keith’s friend.

“Well, I shall not be at home to-morrow,” she began.  “I have promised to go out to-morrow afternoon.”

“Oh, sha’n’t you?  Why, what a pity! because he said he was going to pay his calls to-morrow, as he expected to leave to-morrow night.  I think he would be very sorry not to see you.”

“Oh, well, then, I will stay in.  My other engagement is of no consequence.”

Her friend looked benign.

Recollecting Mrs. Wentworth’s expression, Mrs. Lancaster determined that she would not be at home the following afternoon.  She would show Mrs. Wentworth that she could not gauge her so easily as she fancied.  But at the last moment, after putting on her hat, she changed her mind.  She remained in, and ended by inviting Keith to dinner that evening, an invitation which was so graciously seconded by Mr. Lancaster that Keith, finding that he could take a later train, accepted.  Mrs. Yorke was at the dinner, too, and how gracious she was to Keith!  She “could scarcely believe he was the same man she had known a few years before.”  She “had heard a great deal of him, and had come around to dinner on purpose to meet him.”  This was true.

“And you have done so well, too, I hear.  Your friends are very pleased to know of your success,” she said graciously.

Keith smilingly admitted that he had had, perhaps, better fortune than he deserved; but this Mrs. Yorke amiably would by no means allow.

“Mrs. Wentworth—­not Louise—­I mean the elder Mrs. Wentworth—­was speaking of you.  You and Norman were great friends when you were boys, she tells me.  They were great friends of ours, you know, long before we met you.”

He wondered how much the Wentworths’ indorsement counted for in securing Mrs. Yorke’s invitation.  For a good deal, he knew; but as much credit as he gave it he was within the mark.

It was only her environment.  She could no more escape from that than if she were in prison.  She gauged every one by what others thought, and she possessed no other gauge.  Yet there was a certain friendliness, too, in Mrs. Yorke.  The good lady had softened with the years, and at heart she had always liked Keith.