“Frankly, father, you don’t understand matters,” she said with slow emphasis; “I wish you to know now that if Montgomery Brewster calls again, I shall not see him.”

“If that is your point of view, Barbara, I wish you to know mine.”  The Colonel rose and stood over her, everything forgotten but the rage that went so deep that it left the surface calm.  Throwing aside his promise to Brewster, he told Barbara with dramatic simplicity the story of the rescue of the bank.  “You see,” he added, “if it had not been for that open-hearted boy we would now be ruined.  Instead of giving cotillons, you might be giving music lessons.  Montgomery Brewster will always be welcome in this house and you will see that my wishes are respected.  Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Barbara answered in a still voice.  “As your friend I shall try to be civil to him.”

The Colonel was not satisfied with so cold-blooded an acquiescence, but he wisely retired from the field.  He left the girl silent and crushed, but with a gleam in her eyes that was not altogether to be concealed.  The story had touched her more deeply than she would willingly confess.  It was something to know that Monty Brewster could do a thing like that, and would do it for her.  The exultant smile which it brought to her lips could only be made to disappear by reminding herself sharply of his recent arrogance.  Her anger, she found, was a plant which needed careful cultivation.

It was in a somewhat chastened mood that she started a few days later for a dinner at the DeMille’s.  As she entered in her sweeping golden gown the sight of Monty Brewster at the other end of the room gave her a flutter at the heart.  But it was an agitation that was very carefully concealed.  Brewster was certainly unconscious of it.  To him the position of guest was like a disguise and he was pleased at the prospect of letting himself go under the mask without responsibility.  But it took on a different color when the butler handed him a card which signified that he was to take Miss Drew in to dinner.  Hastily seeking out the hostess he endeavored to convey to her the impossibility of the situation.

“I hope you won’t misunderstand me,” he said.  “But is it too late to change my place at the table?”

“It isn’t conventional, I know, Monty.  Society’s chief aim is to separate engaged couples at dinner,” said Mrs. Dan with a laugh.  “It would be positively compromising if a man and his wife sat together.”

Dinner was announced before Monty could utter another word, and as she led him over to Barbara she said, “Behold a generous hostess who gives up the best man in the crowd so that he and some one else may have a happy time.  I leave it to you, Barbara, if that isn’t the test of friendship.”

For a moment the two riveted their eyes on the floor.  Then the humor of the situation came to Monty.

“I did not know that we were supposed to do Gibson tableaux to-night,” he said drily as he proffered his arm.