“Perhaps I’m wrong,” she laughed.

She laughed, and sat up straight again, and resumed her excellent imitation of the woman of fashion, while I tried to behave as though I had found nothing singular in her behavior.

“You know about our reception?” she asked vivaciously in another moment, playing with her fan.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Where have you been, Carl?”

“I’ve been in Edinburgh,” I said, “for my final.”

“Oh!” she said. “Well, it’s been paragraphed in all the papers. Sullivan is giving a reception in the Gold Rooms of the Grand Babylon Hotel. Of course, it will be largely theatrical, —