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she couldn’t see it, and, by George, she does not like me! I don’t much wonder—I must ha’ been irritating, and, of course, she thinks me an outsider in the fullest sense.”

Pamela thought about Tony longer than she wanted to, for “Archie’s Miracle” had been much more annoying than she had expected, which was saying a good deal.

“He has changed dreadfully,” she thought. “I liked the sailor-boy so much—he was a dear—I remembered him for ages, and I used to wonder about him, but this man is all hard and horrid and superior; he talks to me as if he didn’t like me, and I never heard anyone say such silly things as if money were the only thing that mattered! He looked as if he did think it, too, while he was speaking. It isn’t true—it isn’t true! I know lots of people who haven’t money and everybody makes much of them, and, of course, we’re always hearing of Jews and other rich men who want to get into society and can’t. I certainly shall not dance with him again—but perhaps he won’t ask me, since he seems to think me so foolish. He must be nice sometimes, I suppose, or else Archie and everybody else would not like him, but he was just horrid to-night.”

She looked at her reflection in the glass. A sleepy but extremely correct maid was just finishing the brushing of her soft brown hair, her cheeks were a little flushed, and her eyes bright and resentful. She did not look as if many people had been “horrid” to her. Perhaps no one had ever seriously disapproved of Pamela in her whole pretty life, although Aunt Sophia was not exactly a cheerful person to live with.

“It would have been a nice dance if that St. Croix man had not been there,” she thought. “I hope I shan’t meet him again. I won’t think any more about him.”