He took Miss De Voe in, and found Dorothy Ogden sitting on his other side.  He had barely exchanged greetings with her, when he heard his name spoken from across the table, and looking up, he found Miss Leroy sitting opposite.

“I hope you haven’t entirely forgotten me,” that girl said, the moment his attention was caught.

“Not at all,” said Peter.

“Nor my dress,” laughed Miss Leroy.

“I remember the style, material, and train.”

“Especially the train I am sure.”

“Do explain these mysterious remarks,” said Dorothy.

“Mr. Stirling and I officiated at a wedding, and I was in such mortal terror lest some usher should step on my gown, that it became a joke.”

“Whose wedding was that?” asked Miss De Voe.

“Miss Pierce’s and Watts D’Alloi’s,” said the bridesmaid.

“Do you know Watts D’Alloi?” exclaimed Miss De Voe to Peter.

“Yes.”

“Indeed!  When?”

“At college.”

“Are you a Harvard man?”

“Yes.”

“You were Mr. D’Alloi’s chum, weren’t you?” said Miss Leroy.

“Yes.”

“Watts D’Alloi?” again exclaimed Miss De Voe.

“Yes.”

“But he’s a mere boy.”

“He’s two years my senior.”

“You don’t mean it?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were over thirty.”

“Most people do.”

Miss De Voe said to herself, “I don’t know as much about him as I thought I did.  He may be very frank, but he doesn’t tell all one thinks.  Now I know where he gets his nice manner.  I ought to have recognized the Harvard finish.”

“When did you last hear from the D’Allois?” asked Miss Leroy.

“Not since they sailed,” said Peter, wincing internally.

“Not really?” said the bridesmaid.  “Surely you’ve heard of the baby?”

“No.”  Lines were coming into Peter’s face which Miss De Voe had never before seen.

“How strange.  The letters must have gone astray.  But you have written him?”

“I did not know his address.”

“Then you really haven’t heard of the little baby—­why, it was born two—­no, three years ago—­and of Helen’s long ill-health, and of their taking a villa on the Riviera, and of how they hope to come home this spring?”

“No.”

“Yes.  They will sail in June if Helen is well enough.  I’m to be god-mother.”

“If you were Mr. D’Alloi’s chum, you must have known Ray Rivington,” said Dorothy.

“Yes.  But I’ve not seen him since we graduated.  He went out West.”

“He has just returned.  Ranching is not to his taste.”

“Will you, if you see him, say that I’m in New York and should like to run across him?”

“I will.  He and Laurence—­my second brother—­are old cronies, and he often drops in on us.  I want you to know my brothers.  They are both here this evening.”