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216. But, if you don’t care about it, I’ll put him off.”

“No, it’s all right,” said Constance.

It was an instinct with her to be hospitable, to have her house always open to her friends. But, until now, she had dreaded asking any one to meals, except Gerrit and Adeline, quite quietly, and, just once, Paul.

Paul happened to call that evening.

“Do you mind if I ask Paul too?” she said to her husband.

“No, of course not; Paul is delightful.”

Paul accepted with pleasure. On the evening of the little dinner, he was the first to arrive.

“Addie is dining with Gerrit and Adeline,” she said. “It will be nicer for him.”

“How charming you’ve made your place look!” said Paul, enthusiastically.

She had a pretty little drawing-room, cosy and comfortable and gay with many flowers in vases. And she looked most charming, young, with the attractive pallor of her rounded face, the face of a woman in her prime, and a smile in the dimples about her lips, because the graciousness of a hostess was natural to her. Paul thought her the best-looking of all his sisters, as she stood before him in her black dress: a film of black mousseline-de-soie and black lace, falling in a diaphanous cloud over white taffeta. There reigned, in her rooms, in herself, the easy grace of a woman of the world, a quality which Paul had not yet observed in her, because until now he had