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144 fectly matched, and they had formed his wedding gift to his wife. The value of the separate stones was not less than a hundred thousand dollars; their value combined in the necklace could be only a matter of conjecture.

“Yes,” agreed Drysdale, with a little laugh, “it certainly is. You’d better take it down to Tiffany, Dickie.”

“I will,” said Delroy. “And don’t think anything-more about it, Edith.”

“I won’t,” she answered, still smiling, her eyes unnaturally bright. “But it’s very close in here; I should like a glass of water.”

The water was procured in a moment. Drysdale, blaming himself more and more, was relieved to see her colour return. She soon seemed quite herself again; the talk turned to other things. And once again Tremaine showed his perfect self-control-he did not linger unduly, he did not give them a chance to grow accustomed to him, much less to grow tired of him. He had not the faintest air of being an intruder; he seemed completely at home; and when he left the box, the men, at least, were sorry he had gone, and said so. He was that wholly admirable thing—a guest whose departure one watches with regret.

That box party was the wedge which enabled Tremaine to enter the Delroy circle; a privilege which he cultivated with such consummate tact that he was soon accepted everywhere at his face value. His success was assured from the start, for he brought to palates jaded by over-feeding a new and exquisite tang; he