It was toward this splendid mausoleum that the daughter of the house made her way after her meeting with Mr. Gallatin in the Park. After one quick look over her shoulder in the direction from which she had come, she walked up the driveway hurriedly and rang the bell, entering the glass vestibule, from which, while she waited for the door to be opened, she peered furtively forth. A man in livery took the leashes of the poodles from her hand and closed the door behind her.

“Has Mother come in, Hastings?”

“Yes, Miss Loring. She has been asking for you.”

Miss Loring climbed the marble stairway that led to the second floor, but before she reached the landing, a voice sounded in her ears, a thin voice pitched in a high key of nervous tension

“Jane! Where have you been? Don’t you know that we’re going to the theatre with the Dorsey-Martin’s to-night? Madame Thiebout has been waiting for you for at least an hour. What has kept you so long?”

“I was walking, Mother,” said the girl. “I have a headache. I—I’m not going to-night.”

Mrs. Loring’s hands flew up in horrified protest. “There!” she cried. “I knew it. If it hadn’t been a headache, it would have been something else. It’s absurd, child. Why, we must go. You know how important it is for us to keep in with the Dorsey-Martins. It’s the first time they’ve asked us to anything, and it means so much in every way.”

Miss Loring by this time had walked toward the door of her own room, for her mother’s voice when raised, was easily heard in every part of the big house.

“I’m not going out to-night, Mother,” she repeated quietly, shutting the door behind them .

“Jane,” Mrs. Loring cried petulantly. “Mrs. Dorsey-Martin is counting on you. She’s asked some people especially to meet you—the Perrines, the Endicotts, and Mr. Van Duyn, and you know how much he will be disappointed. Lie down on the couch for a moment, and take something for your nerves. You’ll feel better soon, that’s a dear girl.”

The unhappy lady put her arm around her daughter’s waist and led her toward the divan.

“I knew you would, Jane dear. There. You’ve got so much good sense——”

Miss Loring sank listlessly on the couch, her gaze fixed on the flowered hangings at her windows. Her body had yielded to her mother’s insistence, but her thoughts were elsewhere. But as Mrs. Loring moved toward the bell to call the maid, her daughter stopped her with a gesture.

“It isn’t any use, Mother. I’m not going,” she said wearily.

The older woman stopped and looked at her daughter aghast International School Interview questions.

“You really mean it, Jane! You ungrateful girl![98] I’ve always said that you were eccentric, but you’re obstinate, too, and self-willed. A headache!” scornfully. “Why, last year I went to the opera in Mrs. Poultney’s box when I thought I should die at any moment! I don’t believe you have a headache. You’re lying to me—hiding inside yourself the way you always do when I want your help and sympathy most. I don’t understand you at all. You’re no daughter of mine. When I’m trying so hard to give you your proper place in the world, to have you meet the people who will do us the most good! It’s a shame, I tell you, to treat me so. Why did I bring you up with so much care? See that your associates out home should be what I thought proper for a girl with the future that your father was making for you? Why did I take you abroad and give you all the advantages of European training and culture