Callers for Mrs. Helen Davies, and a huge bouquet of American beauties for Gail. The latter young lady was in the music room, engaged with Chopin and a great deal of pensiveness, when the interruption occurred, and not quite understanding the specific division of ceremonies, crossed up into the Louis XIV room, where Nicholas Van Ploon and Miss Van Ploon sat with unusual impressiveness.

“We don’t wish to see any frivolous young people,” said Miss Van Ploon playfully, kissing Gail and pinching her cheek affectionately.

“You can’t mean me,” laughed Gail, turning to receive the outstretched palm of Nicholas, who, to her intense surprise, bent his round head and kissed her hand.

“Just you,” returned Miss Van Ploon, drawing Gail down beside her. “We consider you the most delightfully frivolous young person in existence.”

“That’s flattering, but is it complimentary?” queried Gail, and she was astounded that Nicholas Van Ploon laughed so heartily. He had folded his hands over his entirely uncreased vest, and now he nodded at her over and over.

“Clever,” he said, “very clever;” and he continued to beam on her.

Miss Van Ploon turned sidewise, to inspect Gail with a fondly critical estimate. The pensiveness which had needed Chopin for its expression, and which had been rather growing since the night of Dick Rodley’s final proposal, had begun to set its slightly etherealising mark upon her.

“You are a trifle pale, my dear,” said Miss Van Ploon anxiously. “We must not allow the roses to fade from those beautiful cheeks,” and Nicholas Van Ploon was at once seriously concerned. He straightened his neck, and bore the exact expression of a careful head of the family about to send for a doctor.

“That’s the second scolding I’ve had about it to-day,” smiled Gail, a feeling of discomfort beginning to tighten itself around her. “Aunt Grace is worrying herself very much because I do not sleep sufficiently, but Aunt Helen tells her that the season will soon be over.”

“It has been very gay,” observed Miss Van Ploon approvingly. “However, I would like to see you finish the season as gloriously as you began it.”

“You should systematise,” advised Nicholas Van Ploon earnestly, and in an almost fatherly tone. “No matter what occurs, you should take a half hour nap before dinner every day.”

Mrs. Davies came into the room, arrayed in the black velvet afternoon gown which gave her more stateliness and more impressive dignity than anything in her wardrobe. Miss Van Ploon, who was a true member of the family, in that she considered the Van Ploon entity before any individual, quite approved of Mrs. Davies, and was in nowise jealous of being so distinctly outshone in personal appearance. Nicholas Van Ploon also surveyed Mrs. Davies with a calculating eye, and bobbed his round head slightly to himself. He had canvassed Mrs. Helen Davies before, and had discussed her in family council, but this was a final view, a dress parade, as it were.

“I suppose I am dismissed,” laughed Gail, rising, in relief, as Mrs. Davies exchanged the greetings of the season with her callers.

“Yes, run away and amuse yourself, child,” and Miss Van Ploon, again with that assumption that Gail was a pinafored miss with a braid down her back and a taffy stick in one hand, shook at her a playful finger; whereupon Gail, pretending to laugh as a pinafored miss should, escaped, leaving them to their guild matters, or whatever it was.

“What a charming young woman she is!” commented Miss Van Ploon, glancing, with dawning pride, at the doorway through which Gail had disappeared.

“Indeed, yes,” agreed Mrs. Davies, with a certain trace of proprietorship of her own. “It has been very delightful to chaperon her.”

“It must have been,” acquiesced Miss Van Ploon; “and an extremely responsible task, too.”

“Quite,” assented Mrs. Davies. Both ladies were silent for a moment. Nicholas Van Ploon, watching them in equal silence, began to show traces of impatience.

“We shall miss Gail very much if she should return to her home at the end of the season,” ventured Miss Von Ploon, and waited.

“We dread to think of losing her,” admitted Mrs. Davies, beginning to feel fluttery. The question had been asked, the information given.

Miss Van Ploon turned to her father, and bowed with formal deliberation. Nicholas Van Ploon looked at her inquiringly. He had not detected any particular meaning in the conversation, but that bow was a letter of instructions. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and touched his lips. He arose, in his completely stuffed cutaway, and deliberately brought forward his chair. He sat down facing his daughter and Mrs. Helen Davies. The latter lady was tremulous within but frigid without. Mr. Van Ploon cleared his throat.

“I believe that you are the acknowledged sponsor of Miss Sargent,” he inquired.

Mrs. Davies nodded graciously.

“May I take the liberty of asking if your beautiful ward has formed a matrimonial alliance?”

“I am quite safe in saying that she has not.” Thus Mrs. Davies, in a tone of untroubled reserve.

“Then I feel free to speak,” went on the head of the Van Ploons, in whose family the ancient custom of having a head was still rigidly preserved. “I may state that we should feel it an honour to have Miss Sargent become a member of the Van Ploon family.”

Since he seemed to have more to say, and since he seemed to have paused merely for rhetorical effect, Mrs. Helen Davies only nodded her head, suppressing, meantime, the look of exultation which struggled to leap into her face.

“My son Houston, I am authorised to state, is devoted to Miss Sargent. We have discussed the matter among us, and beg to assure you that Miss Sargent will be received with affection, if she should consent to honour us with this alliance.”

The pause this time was not for rhetorical effect. It was a period, which was emphasised by the fact that Nicholas leaned back in his chair to restore his hands to their natural resting place.

“We are honoured,” observed Mrs. Davies, with excellent courtesy suppressing a gasp. The Van Ploons! The Van Ploons amid the stars! Why, they were so high in the social firmament that they dared live and talk and act like common people—and did it. To be above the need of pretence is greatness indeed! “I shall take up the matter with my niece.”

“I thank you,” responded the head of the Van Ploons. “You have rendered it possible for me to inform my son that he is at liberty to speak to Miss Sargent. He is anxious to call this evening, if he may,” whereupon he smiled indulgently, and his daughter also smiled indulgently, and Mrs. Davies smiled indulgently.

“If you will pardon me, I will ascertain if my niece will be at liberty this evening,” offered Mrs. Davies, rising.

“We shall be highly gratified,” accepted Mr. Van Ploon, rising and bowing.

“We are so fond of Gail,” added Miss Van Ploon, beaming with sincerity, and the beam was reflected in the face of her father, who nodded his spherical head emphatically.

Mrs. Helen Davies paused at the head of the stairs to calm herself. The Mrs. Waverly-Gaites’ annual faded into dim obscurity. Mrs. Waverly-Gaites would beg Gail on her bended knees to attend the annual, and Mrs. Helen Davies could attend if she liked. She went into her own room, and took a drink of water, and sat down for thirty or forty seconds; then she went into Gail’s suite, where she found that young lady, all unconscious of the honour which was about to befall her, reading a six hundred page critique of Chopin’s music, and calmly munching chocolates out of a basket decorated with eight shades of silk roses.

“Sit down and have a chocolate, Aunt Helen,” hospitably offered Gail, slipping a marker in her book.

Mrs. Davies consumed a great deal of time in selecting a chocolate, but she did not sit down.

“Shall you be at liberty this evening, Gail?” she inquired, with much carelessness.

“Why?” and Gail, whose feet were stretched out and crossed, in lazy ease, looked up at her aunt sidewise from under her curving lashes.

Mrs. Davies hesitated a moment.

“Houston Van Ploon would like to call.”

“Are they still downstairs?” Gail suddenly unveiled her eyes, and brought her slippers squarely in front of her divan. Also she sat bolt upright.

“Yes,” and Mrs. Davies betrayed signs of nervousness.

“Are they making the appointment for Houston?”

“Yes.” The word drawled.

“Why?” and Gail’s brown eyes began to crackle.

Mrs. Davies thought it better to sit down.

“My dear, a great honour has come to you.”

Gail leaned forward towards her aunt, and tilted her chin.

“Houston wants to propose, and he’s sent his father and sister to find out if he may!” she charged.

“Yes,” acknowledged Mrs. Davies, driven past the possibility of delay or preparation, and feeling herself unjustly on the defensive.

“I shall not be at home this evening,” announced Gail decisively, and stretched out her feet again, and crossed her little grey slippers, and took a chocolate. “Or any other evening,” she added.

Mrs. Davies lost her flutter immediately. This was too stupendously serious a matter to be weakly treated.

“My dear, you don’t understand!” she protested, not in anger, but in patient reason. “Houston Van Ploon has been the unattainable match of New York. He is a gentleman in every particular, a desirable young man in every respect, and gifted with everything a young girl would want. He has so much money that you could buy a kingdom and be a queen, if you chose to amuse yourself that way. He has a dignified old family, which makes mere social position seem like an ignominious scramble for cotillion favours; and it is universally admitted that he is the most perfect of all the Van Ploons for many generations. Not exceptionally clever; but that is one of the reasons the Van Ploons are so particular to find a suitable matrimonial alliance for him.”

Gail, nibbling daintily at her chocolate, closed her eyelids for a second, the long, brown lashes curved down on her cheeks, and from beneath them there escaped a sparkle like the snap of live coals, while the corners of her lips twitched in that little smile which she kept for her own enjoyment.

“You can not appreciate the compliment which has been paid you, Gail. Every dÉbutante for the past five years has been most carefully considered by the Van Ploons, and I sincerely believe this to be the first time they have unanimously agreed on a choice. It is a matter of eugenics, Gail, but in addition to that, Mr. Van Ploon assures me that Houston is most fervently interested.”

“How careless of them,” criticised Gail. “They have neither asked for my measurements nor examined my teeth.”

“Gail!” Her chaperon and sponsor was both shocked and stern.

“I positively decline to even discuss the Van Ploon eugenics,” stated Gail, pushing aside her chocolates, while a red spot began to appear on her cheeks. “I shall not, as I stated before, be at home to Houston Van Ploon this evening—or any other evening.”

“I shall not deliver that message,” announced Mrs. Davies, setting her lips. “As your present sponsor, I shall insist that you take more time to consider a matter so important.”

“I shall insist on refusing to consider it for one second,” returned Gail quietly. “I am very fond of Houston Van Ploon, and I hope to remain so, but I wouldn’t marry him under any circumstances. This is firm, flat, and final.”

Mrs. Helen Davies dropped patient reason instantly. She was aware of an impulsive wish that Gail were in pinafores, and her own child, so she could box her ears.

“Gail, you compel me to lose my patience!” she declared. “When you came, I strained every influence I possessed to have you meet the most desirable eligibles this big city could offer, just as if you were my own daughter! I have succeeded in working miracles! I have given you an opportunity to interest the very best! You have interested them, but I have never seen such extravagance in the waste of opportunities! You have refused men whom thousands in the highest circles have sought; and now you refuse the very choice of them all! What or whom do you want?”

Gail’s red spots were deepening, but she only clasped her knee in her interlocked fingers, her brown hair waving about her face, and her chin uptilted.

“You can’t always expect to retain your youth, and beauty and charm!” went on her Aunt Helen. “You can’t expect to come to New York every year and look over the eligibles until you find one to suit your fastidious taste! You’re capricious, you’re ungrateful, and you’re unsatisfactory!”

Gail’s eyes turned suddenly moist, and the red flashed out of her cheeks.

“Oh, Aunt Helen!” she exclaimed in instant contrition. “I’m so very, very sorry that I am such a disappointment to you! But if I just can’t marry Mr. Van Ploon, I can’t, can I? Don’t you see?” She was up now and down again, sitting on a hassock in front of Mrs. Davies, and the face which she upturned had in it so much of beautiful appeal that even her chaperon and sponsor was softened. “I was nasty a while ago, and I had no excuse for it, for you have been loving and sincere in your desire to make my future happy. I’m so very, very sorry! I’ll tell you what I’ll do! You may go down and tell Mr. Van Ploon and his daughter that I will see Houston this evening,” and then she smiled; “but you mustn’t say ‘with pleasure.’”