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Mrs. Truxton seated herself in one of the comfortable lounging chairs and contemplated the disheveled room and Eleanor’s oriental silk dressing gown with disapproval.

“Do you know the time?” she inquired pointedly.

“Nearly one,” answered Eleanor, as she discarded her dressing gown for a silk waist. “Lunch will soon be ready. I hope you have a good appetite.”

“Yes, thank you; I’ve been out all the morning,” reproachfully. “Mrs. Douglas has asked me to dine with her this evening, and, I think, Eleanor, if it will not interfere with your arrangements, that I will accept the invitation.”

“Do so by all means,” exclaimed Eleanor heartily. “I hope she won’t talk you deaf, dumb, and blind.”

“She is rather long-winded,” admitted Mrs. Truxton, tranquilly. “On the telephone this morning she took up twenty minutes telling me of the arrival here of her nephew, Douglas Hunter—good gracious, child——” as Eleanor’s silver powder box rolled on the floor with a loud bang—“how you startle one.”

“I beg your pardon,” Eleanor was some seconds picking it up, for her fingers fumbled clumsily. “What were you saying, Cousin Kate?” replacing the silver on the dressing table.