When Noel woke, the morning after his ultimatum to Connie, he was at once aware that something was to make that day different from other days, but for a moment he couldn’t remember what that something was. Then, as the happenings of the previous day came back to him, he said to himself, "Connie and Petrovitch," and sprang out of bed. He dressed quickly—for he had reduced the business of dressing himself with one hand to an exact science—and knocked on Judy’s door. He heard her call, "Come in if it’s Noel," and obeyed. Judy was standing before her mirror, brushing her brown hair. Her bright red silk dressing gown made a lovely splash of color in the restrained little room.

“What are you up so early for?” she asked. “Something on your conscience, old boy?”

“Not on mine,” he assured her. “Mind if I smoke? I bet you often do before breakfast.”

“Never. You may though. You’ve evidently got something to tell me. Even if I am the spinster type, I understand the workings of the male mind. What’s up?”

“It’s about Connie,” he began; then broke off to say, “One of these days I’ll buy you a comfortable chair. This one’s got a back like a pew in a Quaker meetinghouse. However—you know yesterday was Connie’s birthday?”

“Of course I know. Didn’t I send her a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley? Lilies for purity. Well, what about it?”

“Perhaps you are also aware that she asked me to lunch at Claridge’s. Before we’d been there ten minutes, who do you suppose came in and sat at a table almost next to ours?”

“Chiozzi?”

“Guess again.”

“Noel, you know I hate these guessing games. Freeman? Oh, no, he’s dead. It was some one to do with Connie, I suppose. Petrovitch, then?”

“No other. The dirty dog!”

“The plot thickens!” exclaimed Judy. “What happened then?”

“Connie saw him, and nearly swooned for joy. And then if you please, the great brute saw her and beckoned. Beckoned, do you hear? And she’d have gone to him if I’d let her.”

“How beastly!” “I talked to her gently but firmly, but she was up in the air. We got through lunch somehow, and then I tried to persuade her to get out before he could speak to her. But she wouldn’t budge. He didn’t move either until he’d almost finished feeding. Then he came to our table. I wish you could have seen Connie registering soulfulness. I can tell you, a close-up of both of them would have been pleasing to a screen audience. After twenty years the villain sees the heroine again. Tableau!”

“Yes. Well, go on.”

“We exchanged a pleasantry or two, and then he commanded Connie to dine with him to-night. Connie of course was writhing on the mat for pure joy, and barking short, happy barks. She licked his hand and meekly indicated that his lightest wish was her law. Then we went. I wasn’t feeling full of love for human nature by that time, I can tell you. I didn’t know what to do, so I rang up Claire and she advised me to issue an ultimatum. Which I did. I said that if she spoke to Petrovitch again, all was over between us. Sob stuff from Connie. I really was sorry for her. In the end I told her to sleep on it, and to ring me up in the morning. Then I left her. Do you think I did right?” Judy considered.

“It would half kill her not to see you again. She adores you, you know. But I think Claire was right. If that won’t pull her up, nothing will. What do you think she’ll do?”

“Oh, she’ll dine with Petrovitch, all right,” prophesied Noel gloomily. “Hang it all! I thought she’d learned something. I didn’t expect her to change her nature all at once, but I did think she’d begun to see the silliness of that sort of behavior.”

“The way of the reformer is hard,” said his sister.

“Oh, I’m not trying to reform her. I only wanted to show her that she’d get more out of life if she tried another tack. And I believe she was beginning to see it, too. If only that—swine hadn’t come along!——”

“Well, stick to your guns,” advised Judy. “I have a feeling that she’ll come round. But, Noel, if she doesn’t come round?——”

“Exactly. If she doesn’t, ought I to keep my threat? After all, perhaps I’ve no right … I suppose it’s difficult … if I thought it would cure her to see him a few times, I’d let her. But he’s her hero for life, spots and all.”

“Spots?” Judy paused with upraised arms. “Any number of ’em. On his clothes. A dirty feeder. As for his hair!…”

“Isn’t it queer, Noel? That sort of thing? I can’t understand it, can you?”

“I don’t want to,” he said shortly. “I’ve thought of kidnapping Connie and shutting her up somewhere till he goes. He’ll only be here a week or so. I saw it in the paper last night.”

Judy laughed as she pinned her hair into place.

“Poor old Connie! She’s sure to do the wrong thing, I suppose. She always has. But there’s just a chance. She’s so fond of you.”

“I’m rather fond of her. She’s a good sort, really, under all this Camille business. She doesn’t understand you though.”

“I can bear that,” replied his sister.

“It’s a funny thing,” remarked Noel, remembering her comments on the subject of Judy and Chip, “but I believe that if Connie hadn’t been … what she is … she’d have been a terribly conventional woman. I think she’s a sort of Millie-gone-wrong.”

This amused Judy greatly.

“If only mother could hear you say that!” she said.

“What’s on to-night?” he asked. “Anything doing here?” “Have you forgotten? Major Crosby’s coming to dinner, and we promised to give him a dancing lesson.”

“Chip! So he is! This bother about Connie put it out of my head for the moment. What shall I do if she asks me to take her out to dinner? As she may do, if she decides not to see Petrovitch.”

“Then I suppose you must take her.”

“We might dine early and come here after,” he suggested. “Would mother object, do you think?”

“You’d better ask her,” she said. “Mother has only seen her once since she came back, and then she went to her hotel heavily veiled.”

Noel nodded appreciatively.

“Well, I’ll ask her. There’s no harm in Connie, poor old thing. Will Gordon be home?”

“Yes. Helen’s dining here too. I didn’t want her a bit to-night. She’s so—patronizing. Not to me, but to strangers. And Chip will be shyer than ever.”

“Well, remember,” Noel cautioned her, “Chip’s my friend. We met at the Club. It was only a few yards away, so that isn’t much of a fib. That’s what I’ve given out.”

“Very well,” said Judy. “I’m rather dreading to-night, really. I’d like to have kept Chip to ourselves, if we could. But I suppose it wouldn’t have done.”

The gong boomed loudly, and Judy flew to get a dress out of her wardrobe.

When they met at breakfast a few minutes later, they said good morning as though they hadn’t seen each other before. In the midst of their family, the brother and sister had from childhood maintained a sort of Secret Society. Their two minds, critical and inquiring from the first, had early found themselves in tune with each other and out of tune with the rest. When Judy looked back on her childhood and girlhood, it always seemed to her to be streaked with light and dark spots. The light spots were Noel’s vacations, and the times when they were together, and the dark spots were the long school terms, and—darkest spot of all—his absence at the war. But even as a child the joy of having him with her was always faintly shadowed by the fear of some day not having him. For years she had said to herself:

“If I could only love some one else as much as I do Noel, then fate would have a choice of two marks.”

And if the other members of the family objected to the brother and sister’s marked preference for each other’s society, they kept it to themselves remarkably well.

The Pendletons always had family prayers. Mrs. Pendleton insisted on them less from conviction than for the reason that all the other Pendletons had them, and she believed they had a good effect on the servants. So the entire household assembled in the dining room at a quarter to nine, and if any one was late, he or she was waited for. This morning Gordon was late, but when he was the offender, nothing was said.

Mr. Pendleton officiated. He was a little man, with what the Pendletons chose to call a handsome nose. Most people thought it merely large. His face barely escaped being intellectual, but something narrow about the forehead and peevish about the mouth, spoiled the effect. Noel looked the most like him, but Noel’s forehead and mouth had what his father’s lacked. Fortunately he took after his mother in the matter of height, for Millie was a good five inches taller than her husband. In her large, charmless way she was handsome, and had regular and uninteresting features. It was difficult to see in Judy the least trace of likeness to either of her parents, while Gordon, on the contrary, was the image of his mother, and she idolized him. She was prepared, too, to find in Helen, when she became his wife, all that she found lacking in Judy.

Prayers over, breakfast immediately followed. It was usually a quiet meal, enlivened only by excursions after food, and the rustle of newspapers. But this morning there was an uncommon amount of talk. It went as follows:

Mr. Pendleton: “Gordon, I hope you haven’t forgotten you are lunching with Sir William to-day at his club.”

Gordon: “No, father. I hadn’t forgotten. Won’t you be there too?”

Mr. Pendleton: “Unfortunately, it is not possible. I have a very trying day ahead of me.” (Mr. Pendleton was a barrister, but his large income made work less a necessity than a hobby.)

Millie: “I shall be glad when the summer comes, John, and you can take a holiday. By the way, I wish you’d all make up your minds where you want to go this year.”

Noel: “Must we decide six months ahead?”

Millie: “We always have done so. I like to know in good time what I’m going to do. We could go abroad, I suppose, but your father thinks we ought to go to Scotland as usual.” Judy: “Why can’t we all go where we like? Must we have a holiday en masse?”

Mr. Pendleton: “You can hardly speak of a small party of five as going ‘en masse.’”

Gordon: “I won’t be one of the party, so it’s only four. You know, Mother, Helen and I will be at Ottway Castle for July and August.”

Millie: “Of course, dear. I know you are provided for. It’s Judy and Noel I was thinking of.”

Judy: “But why don’t you and father go to Scotland, and let Noel and me go somewhere else—Devon or Cornwall for a change. It’s so dull doing the same thing every year.”

Mr. Pendleton: “I think we will all go together as usual.”

(Silence.)

Judy: “Then why ask us to make up our minds where we want to go?”

Mr. Pendleton: “Your mother asked. Personally, I am convinced that Scotland is the most bracing.”

Judy: “I really don’t feel I want to be braced. Do you, Noel?”

Noel: “I loathe bracing places.”

Mr. Pendleton: “Then let us all go to Cornwall.”

Millie: “I find Cornwall so relaxing.” Judy: “I think I’d like just to stay in Sussex with Claire.”

Mr. Pendleton: “You know, Judy, I dislike very much hearing you speak of your grandmother as Claire.”

Judy: “Sorry, father. I forgot.”

(Silence.)

Noel: “By the way, mother, I’ve got rather a good idea. I may be taking Con—Aunt Connie out to dinner to-night. Suppose I bring her here afterwards? It would cheer her up a lot. I know she likes seeing people dance. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Gordon: “Noel, you really are a bit of an ass sometimes! You know Helen’s coming here to-night. How could I possibly ask her to meet Aunt Connie?”

Noel: “Why not?”

Gordon: “If you don’t know why not, you ought to.”

Noel: “Chuck it, Gordon! Don’t be such a prig. What about Helen’s friend, Oriana Temple? If Connie can teach her anything!——”

Gordon: “Please leave Helen and her friends out of the discussion.”

Noel: “Right. But you brought her in. Anyhow, I asked mother. Mother, you don’t mind if Connie comes here to-night, do you? After all, she’s your sister, and it would be doing her a kindness.”

Millie: “Gordon is quite right, Noel. There is no reason why we should inflict our family skeleton on Helen. If Connie is an unhappy woman, it’s entirely her own fault. She has forfeited the right to be with decent people. Don’t you agree with me, John?”

Mr. Pendleton (unexpectedly): “I think, my dear, that if we can help Connie, we ought to do so. I feel she has a claim upon us, and as Christian people we have no right to ignore it. It isn’t as though the children were growing up; and after all, Gordon, Helen is marrying into our family.”

Noel: “Good for you, dad!”

Gordon: “Let her come by all means. Helen and I will dine here another night.”

Millie: “It’s very tiresome of you, Noel, to upset everything like this. And while we’re on the subject of Aunt Connie, I want to say that I don’t mind your being polite to her, but I do not like your going about with her so much. If you had to ask her here, some other night would have done as well. I’m certain your friend Major Crosby won’t want to meet her.” Noel: “He won’t mind. Besides, he doesn’t know anything about her. And I had a particular reason for wanting to bring her to-night.”

Gordon: “That’s settled, then. Helen and I will dine here to-morrow night, mother.”

Judy and Noel were amazed at the stand their father had taken.

“I never thought dad had it in him,” Noel said later.

“Influence of morning prayers,” answered Judy. “Father’s always nicest just after prayers.”

At ten o’clock the maid sought out Noel with the message that Countess Chiozzi was on the telephone and would like to speak to him.

“I lose, I’ll bet,” said Noel to Judy as he left the room.

“Hello, Connie!” he began cheerfully. “How’s my aunt this morning? Feeling better? Good! I was rather a beast yesterday, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, you were,” a rather dejected voice replied. “I hardly slept a wink all night. Noel, it’s … it’s breaking my heart, but I know I can’t give you up. There’s no use.… I can’t.”

“Right you are! You don’t have to. Tell you what—we’ll go for a bean-o to-night. I’ll dine you at a new place I wot of, and then I’ll bring you back here. There’ll be just the family, and Major Crosby, and perhaps one or two others. Oh, and I’ll teach you to dance. What do you say? Nothing like dancing to keep you young.”

Connie hesitated, then said rather dubiously:

“But nobody wants me there. Does Millie——”

“Just you come along and see. I’ll call for you at seven. Make yourself beautiful. The gray chiffon, with pearls—what?”

“Oh, that? Very well. Noel, I shall be dreadfully nervous.”

“Nervous! Nonsense, Countess! Pull up your socks. And, by the way, Connie, a light hand with the make-up. I’ll inspect you at seven. And—oh, one thing more. How would you like me to take you to What’s-His-Name’s concert next Friday? You can feast your eyes and ears on him then.”

“You are generous, Noel! It would mean everything to me.”

“I’ll get seats, then. You’re a sport, Connie. So long!”

He left the telephone, whistling jubilantly, and went to tell Judy the news. Then he told his mother, who was less pleased.

“It’s a piece of impertinence, her coming to London at all. I don’t know what your grandmother could have been thinking of. I won’t object to her coming this once, but it mustn’t happen again. We owe it to Gordon to keep her in the background.”

Noel left it at that. He never argued with his mother.

Gordon had reckoned without his Helen, who prided herself on being modern. When he told her he would rather she dined there the following night, she wanted to know the reason.

“Not that beautiful Mrs. Humphries who ran off with Petrovitch? I’d quite forgotten she was your aunt. What nonsense, Gordon! Of course I shall come. As if her past made the slightest difference to me! I hear she’s still quite lovely.”

Gordon reported this new development to his mother in his own way.

“Helen’s been awfully nice about it,” Millie told her husband later. “She told Gordon she didn’t mind meeting Connie at all, and that as she was marrying into the family she intended taking the rough with the smooth. She’s such a sensible girl!”