“Fine, thank you!” said the newcomer, a magnificent woman of perhaps forty, in a very beautiful gown.  “How do you do, Mrs. Studdiford?” she added cordially, as she sat down.  “Dancing, surely?”

“Now she’s got the best reason in the world for not dancing,” said old Mrs. Thayer, with a protective motion of her fan.

“Oh—­so?” Miss Saunders said, after a quick look of interrogation.  “Well, that’s—­dutiful, isn’t it?” She raised her eyebrows, made a little grimace, and laughed.

“Now, Ella, don’t ye say anything wicked!” Mrs. Thayer warned her, and the fan was used to tap Miss Saunders sharply on her smooth, big arm.

“Wicked!” Miss Saunders said negligently, watching the dancers, “I think it’s fine.  I always said I’d have ten.  Is Jim pleased?”

“He’s perfectly delighted—­yes,” Julia assented, suddenly feeling that this careless talk, in this bright, hot room, was not fair to the little one she already loved so dearly.

“Is that Mrs. Brock or Vera?” Mrs. Thayer asked.  “I declare they look alike!”

“That’s Alice,” Ella answered, after a glance, “don’t you know that blue silk?  They’ve got the Hazzards with them.”

“Gets worse every year, absolutely,” the old lady declared, “doesn’t it, Ella?  Emily here?”

“No, she’s wretched, poor kid.  But Ken’s here somewhere.  There are the Geralds,” Miss Saunders added, leaning toward the old woman and sinking her tone to a low murmur.  “Have you heard about Mason Gerald and Paula Billings—­oh, haven’t you?  Not about the car breaking down—­haven’t you?  Well, my dear—­”

Julia lost the story, and sat watching the room, a vague little smile curving her lips, her blue eyes moving idly to and fro.  She saw Mrs. Toland come in with her two lovely daughters.  Julia had had tea with them that afternoon at the hotel, where they would spend the night.  The orchestra was silent just now, and the dancers were drifting about the room, a great brilliant circle.  Some of the men were clapping their hands, all of them were laughing as they bent their sleek heads toward their partners, and all the girls were laughing, too, and talking animatedly as they raised wide-open eyes.  Julia admired the gowns:  shining pink and cloudy pink, blue with lace and blue with spangles, white alone, and white with every colour in the world; a yellow and black gown that was indescribably dashing, and a yellow and black gown that somehow looked very flat and dowdy.  She noticed the Ripley pearls on Miss Dolly Ripley’s scrawny little lean neck, and that charming Isabel Wallace danced a good deal with her own handsome, shy young brothers, and seemed eager that they should enjoy what was evidently their first Browning.  She studied the old faces, the hard faces, the faded faces, the painted cheeks and powdered necks; she read the tragedy behind the drooping head of some debutante, the triumph in the high laugh of