“Ferdy’s friendship is pretty expensive,” said his friend, sententiously.

Keith took a glance at the speakers to see if he could by following their gaze place Mrs. Lancaster.  The one who defended the lady was a jolly-looking man with a merry eye and a humorous mouth.  The other two were as much alike as their neckties, their collars, their shirt-fronts, their dress-suits, or their shoes, in which none but a tailor could have discovered the least point of difference.  Their cheeks were smooth, their chins were round, their hair as perfectly parted and brushed as a barber’s.  Keith had an impression that he had seen them just before on the other side of the room, talking to the lady in black; but as he looked across, he saw the other young men still there, and there were yet others elsewhere.  At the first glance they nearly all looked alike.  Just then he became conscious that a couple had stopped close beside him.  He glanced at them; the lady was the same to whom he had seen Mrs. Wentworth speaking at the other end of the room.  Her face was turned away, and all he saw was an almost perfect figure with shoulders that looked dazzling in contrast with her shimmering black gown.  A single red rose was stuck in her hair.  He was waiting to get a look at her face, when she turned toward him.

[Illustration:  “Why, Mr. Keith!” she exclaimed.]

“Why, Mr. Keith!” she exclaimed, her blue eyes open wide with surprise.  She held out her hand.  “I don’t believe you know me?”

“Then you must shut your eyes,” said Keith, smiling his pleasure.

“I don’t believe I should have known you?  Yes, I should; I should have known you anywhere.”

“Perhaps, I have not changed so much,” smiled Keith.

She gave him just the ghost of a glance out of her blue eyes.

“I don’t know.  Have you been carrying any sacks of salt lately?” She assumed a lighter air.

“No; but heavier burdens still.”

“Are you married?”

Keith laughed.

“No; not so heavy as that—­yet.”

“So heavy as that yet!  Oh, you are engaged?”

“No; not engaged either—­except engaged in trying to make a lot of people who think they know everything understand that there are a few things that they don’t know.”

“That is a difficult task,” she said, shaking her head, “if you try it in New York.”

     “’John P. Robinson, he
     Says they don’t know everything down in Judee,’”

put in the stout young man who had been standing by waiting to speak to her.

“But this isn’t Judee yet,” she laughed, “for I assure you we do know everything here, Mr. Keith.”  She held out her hand to the gentleman who had spoken, and after greeting him introduced him to Keith as “Mr. Stirling.”

“You ought to like each other,” she said cordially.

Keith professed his readiness to do so.

“I don’t know about that,” said Stirling, jovially.  “You are too friendly to him.”