“I do not care for the tea parties here, Mr. Winthrop.  I am not interested in the things they talk about.”  I said, with a sudden burst of confidence.

“You have broken our compact already.  A woman cannot hold to a bargain, I am informed.”

“I had not promised,” I said, proudly.

“Then I am to infer you are an exception, and would hold to your promises, no matter how binding.”

“I am the daughter of a man; possibly I may have inherited some noble, manly properties.”  My temper was getting ruffled.

“Yes, Nature plays some curious freaks occasionally,” he said in a reflective way, as if we were discussing some scientific subject.

“You will please excuse me.  Dinner will be announced shortly, and I must remove my wraps,” I said, very politely.

He bowed, and I gladly escaped to my own room, feeling more startled than pleased at my first interview with Mr. Winthrop.

The dinner bell rang, and I hastened down to be in my place at the table before Mr. Winthrop entered.  I opened the door of the pretty breakfast parlor where dinner had been served ever since I came to Oaklands, but the room was silent and empty.

I turned, not very gladly to the great dining-room, which I had somehow fancied was only used on rare occasions.  Opening the door I saw the table shining with silver and glass, while Mrs. Flaxman stood surveying the arrangements with an anxious face.  “Shall we always dine here?” I asked anxiously.

“Always when Mr. Winthrop is at home; our informal dinners in the cosy breakfast-room are a thing of the past.”

“But this seems so formal and grand I shall never enjoy your delicious dishes any more, with Hubert adding to their piquancy with his sarcasms, and witticisms.”

“Oh, yes, dear, you will; one gets used to everything in this world, even to planning every day for several courses at dinner,” she said with a sigh.

“I wonder why it is necessary to go to so much trouble just for something to eat, when it’s all over in a half hour or so, and not any more nutritious than food plainly prepared?”

“The Winthrops have always maintained a well-equipped table.  Our Mr. Winthrop would look amazed if we set him down to one of our informal dinners.”

“I think he would enjoy them if he once tried them,” I said, as I slipped into the place Mrs. Flaxman appointed.  A few seconds after Mr. Winthrop entered, followed immediately by Hubert who was quite metamorphosed from the gay, scoffing youth into a steady-paced young man.  As the dinner progressed I no doubt looked my surprise at the change; but a meaning glance at Mr. Winthrop was Hubert’s mute reply.