CHAPTER II. OVER THE OLD GROUND
A man who never makes mistakes never makes anything else
either.
Miss Millicent Chyne was vaguely conscious of success--and such a
consciousness is apt to make the best of us a trifle elated. It was
certainly one of the best balls of the season, and Miss Chyne's
dress was, without doubt, one of the most successful articles of its
sort there.
Jack Meredith saw that fact and noted it as soon as he came into the
room. Moreover, it gratified him, and he was pleased to reflect
that he was no mean critic in such matters. There could be no doubt
about it, because he KNEW as well as any woman there. He knew that
Millicent Chyne was dressed in the latest fashion--no furbished-up
gown from the hands of her maid, but a unique creation from Bond
Street.
"Well," she asked in a low voice, as she handed him her programme,
"are you pleased with it?"
"Eminently so."
She glanced down at her own dress. It was not the nervous glance of
the debutante, but the practised flash of experienced eyes which see
without appearing to look.
"I am glad," she murmured.
He handed her back the card with the orthodox smile and bow of
gratitude, but there was something more in his eyes.
"Is that what you did it for?" he inquired.
"Of course," with a glance half coquettish, half humble.
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