Mrs. Wentworth froze up.

“Alice Lancaster!” Her eyes flashed.  “Do not quote her to me!” Her lips choked with the words.

“She is a friend of yours, and a good friend of yours,” declared Keith, boldly.

“I do not want such friends as that,” she said, flaming suddenly.  “Who do you suppose has come between my husband and me?”

“Not Mrs. Lancaster.”

“Yes.”

“No,” said Keith, firmly; “you wrong them both.  You have been misled.”

She rose and walked up and down the room in an excitement like that of an angry lioness.

“You are the only friend that would say that to me.”

“Then I am a better friend than others.”  He went on to defend Mrs. Lancaster warmly.

When Keith left he wondered if that outburst meant that she still loved
Norman.

It is not to be supposed that Mr. Keith’s visits to the house of Mrs. Wentworth had gone unobserved or unchronicled.  That portion of the set that knew Mrs. Wentworth best, which is most given to the discussion of such important questions as who visits whom too often, and who has stopped visiting whom altogether, with the reasons therefor, was soon busy over Keith’s visits.

They were referred to in the society column of a certain journal recently started, known by some as “The Scandal-monger’s Own,” and some kind friend was considerate enough to send Norman Wentworth a marked copy.

Some suggested timidly that they had heard that Mr. Keith’s visits were due to his opinion of the governess; but they were immediately suppressed.

Mrs. Nailor expressed the more general opinion when she declared that even a debutante would know that men like Ferdy Wickersham and Mr. Keith did not fall in love with unknown governesses.  That sort of thing would do to put in books; but it did not happen in real life.  They might visit them, but—!  After which she proceeded to say as many ill-natured things about Miss Lois as she could think of; for the story of Lois’s stopping her ears had also gotten abroad.

Meantime, Keith pursued his way, happily ignorant of the motives attributed to him by some of those who smiled on him and invited him to their teas.  A half-hour with Lois Huntington was reward enough to him for much waiting.  To see her eyes brighten and to hear her voice grow softer and more musical as she spoke his name; to feel that she was in sympathy with him, that she understood him without explanation, that she was interested in his work:  these were the rewards which lit up life for him and sent him to his rooms cheered and refreshed.  He knew that she had no idea of taking him otherwise than as a friend.  She looked on him almost as a contemporary of her father.  But life was growing very sweet for him again.

It was not long before the truth was presented to him.

One of his club friends rallied him on his frequent visits in a certain quarter and the conquest which they portended.  Keith flushed warmly.  He had that moment been thinking of Lois Huntington.  He had just been to see her, and her voice was still in his ears; so, though he thought it unusual in Tom Trimmer to refer to the matter, it was not unnatural.  He attempted to turn the subject lightly by pretending to misunderstand him.