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“No, I stopped at the Evans’s,” replied Marjorie, “and had supper there.”

“How are they? Is Florence coming to the luncheon?”

“Yes, indeed! So is Daisy Gravers. And we’re just dying to know who is engaged.”

“If you had bought a paper tonight, you would have found out,” laughed Lily. “But see whether you can guess.”

“One of our old bunch—the eight, I mean?” asked Marjorie.

“Yes.”

“Then it must be Doris!”

“Righto! I thought you’d know immediately. To Roger Harris.”

“Well! Well! The fellow Jack knows?”

“The very same.”

“Tell me who all are coming to the luncheon day after tomorrow,” begged Marjorie.

“Well,” began Lily, “first there’s Doris, and Marie Louise Harris, Roger’s sister, who is to be maid-of-honor, and—”

But the entrance of Mrs. Andrews into the room interrupted the conversation for a moment, while she greeted Marjorie. The latter, who was sitting on the davenport beside Lily, still wore her hat and travelling coat. She rose as the older woman came in.

“Do take off your things and stay a few minutes, Marjorie,” she said, laughingly. “Or haven’t you time?”