could do?" And surely some such thing had she managed to convey to Steele.
"Dear me," she ran on, "I have clattered away like I don't know what sort of a creature. So glad to have met you, Mr. Steele. I don't suppose that you'll be coming to the ball tomorrow night, will you? At the Corliss home, you know. Isn't Beatrice a dear to make it a mask affair, and just because I have told her how I adore a Bal Masque! Shall I save you a dance, Mr. Steele? Good-bye, for I am going now. Ted has the horses ready."
A puzzled and at last interested Bill Steele stared after her waving departure, still wondering. Had Beatrice actually told this flighty little creature all about him? It was difficult to think of Beatrice speaking intimately with this sort of a woman, and yet what did he know of her friends? Then why in the name of all that was baffling had Mrs. Denham sought him out to tell him of the ball and suggest that he come? Had she meant to give the impression which she did give, the absolutely absurd impression that Beatrice was cognizant of her errand and was willing that he come? But any explanation defied him; he had to choose between the two unanswerable problems: Had Mrs. Denham, who had never so much as seen him until now, wanted him to attend the masked ball, or had she acted as Beatrice's emissary?
Had he carried the matter to Sylvia Carruthers or to Rose Hurley either of them might have suggested something. But Bill Steele merely shoved considerations aside and determined upon the instant that
