"Never." She stood looking down at the laughing face in the locket for a few moments, then, lifting her eyes to his:

"I've been made over, in a day, to look like this.... You did it!"

"Nonsense! Selinda and her curling iron did it."

They laughed a little.

"No," she said, "you have made me. You began to make me all over three months ago--oh, longer ago than that!--you began to remake me the first time you ever spoke to me--the first time you opened your door to me. That was nearly two years ago. And ever since I have been slowly becoming somebody quite new--inside and outside--until to-night, you see, I begin to look like my mother." She smiled at him, drew a deep breath, closed the locket, dropped it on her breast.

"I mustn't keep you," she said. "I wanted to show the picture--so you can understand what you have done for me to make me look like that."

When Barres returned to the studio, freshened and groomed for the evening, he found Dulcie at the piano, playing the little song she had sung that morning, and singing the words under her breath. But she ceased as he came up, and swung around on the piano-stool to confront him with the most radiant smile he had ever seen on a human face.

"What a day this has been!" she said, clasping her hands tightly. "I simply cannot make it seem real."

He laughed:

"It isn't ended yet, either. There's a night to every day, you know.

And your graduation party will begin in a few moments."

"I know. I'm fearfully excited. You'll stay near me, won't you?"

"You bet! Did I tell you who are coming? Well, then, you won't feel strange, because I've merely asked two or three men who live in Dragon Court--men you see every day--Mr. Trenor, Mr. Mandel, and Mr.

Westmore."

"Oh," she said, relieved.

"Also," he said, "I have asked Miss Souval--that tall, pretty girl who sometimes sits for Mr. Trenor--Damaris Souval. You remember her?"

"Yes."

"Also," he continued, "Mr. Mandel wishes to bring a young married woman who has developed a violent desire for the artistic and informal, but who belongs in the Social Register." He laughed. "It's all right if Corot Mandel wants her. Her name is Mrs. Helmund--Elsena Helmund. Mr. Trenor is painting her."

Dulcie's face was serious but calm.

"And then, to even the table," concluded Barres smilingly, "I invited a girl I knew long ago in Paris. Her name is Thessalie Dunois; and she's very lovely to look upon, Dulcie. I am very sure you will like her."

There was a silence; then the electric bell rang in the corridor, announcing the arrival of the first guest. As Barres rose, Dulcie laid her hand on his arm--a swift, involuntary gesture--as though the girl were depending on his protection.

The winning appeal touched him and amused him, too.

"Don't worry, dear," he said. "You'll have the prettiest frock in the studio--if you need that knowledge to rea.s.sure you----"

The corridor door opened and closed. Somebody went into his bedroom with Selinda--that being the only available cloak-room for women.

XI

HER NIGHT

"Thessalie Dunois! This is charming of you!" said Barres, crossing the studio swiftly and taking her hand in both of his.

"I'm so glad to see you, Garry--" she looked past him across the studio at Dulcie, and her voice died out for a moment. "Who is that girl?" she enquired under her breath.

"I'll present you----"

"Wait. _Who_ is she?"

"Dulcie Soane----"

"_Soane?_"

"Yes. I'll tell you about her later----"

"In a moment, Garry." Thessalie looked across the room at the girl for a second or two longer, then turned a troubled, preoccupied gaze on Barres. "Have you a letter from me? I posted it last night."

"Not yet."

The doorbell rang. He could hear more guests entering the corridor beyond. A faint smile--the forced smile of courage--altered Thessalie's features now, until it became a fixed and pretty mask.

"Contrive to give me a moment alone with you this evening," she whispered. "My need is great, Garry."

"Whenever you say! Now?"

"No. I want to talk to that young girl first."

They walked over to where Dulcie stood by the piano, silent and self-possessed.

"Thessa," he said, "this is Miss Soane, who graduated from high school to-day, and in whose honour I am giving this little party." And to Dulcie he said: "Miss Dunois and I were friends when I lived in France. Please tell her about your picture, which you and I are doing." He turned as he finished speaking, and went forward to welcome Esme Trenor and Damaris Souval, who happened to arrive together.

"Oh, the cunning little girl over there!" exclaimed the tall and lovely Damaris, greeting Barres with cordial, outstretched hands.

"Where did you find such an engaging little thing?"

"You don't recognise her?" he asked, amused.

"I? No. Should I?"

"She's Dulcie Soane, the girl at the desk down-stairs!" said Barres, delighted. "This is her party. She has just graduated from high school, and she----"

"Belongs to Barres," interrupted Esme Trenor in his drawling voice.

"Unusual, isn't she, Damaris?--logical anatomy, ornamental, vague development; nice lines, not obvious--like yours, Damaris," he added impudently. Then waving his lank hand with its over-polished nails: "I like the indefinite accented with one ripping value. Look at that hair!--lac and burnt orange rubbed in, smeared, then wiped off with the thumb! You follow the intention, Barres?"

"You talk too much, Esme," interrupted Damaris tartly. "Who is that lovely being talking to the little Soane girl, Garry?"