"How very kind of you!" she said, taking the proffered hand, and there was a thrill of gratitude in her voice. They seated themselves near together and talked of mutual acquaintances, principally men, of the weather, and of the opera the evening before—all with the flippancy with which society veils the primordial network of veins coursing beneath its bloodless surface. Then, when Mrs. Ryder rose to go, she hesitated an instant, looking down at the smaller woman.
"I should like to be your friend," she said at last. "Will you let me?"
Mariana raised her eyes.
"I need them," she answered; and then she added, impulsively: "Do you know all that has been said of me—all?"
Mrs. Ryder drew herself up with a slow, gracious movement.
"But it is not true," she said.
"No, it is not true," repeated Mariana.
The other smiled and held out her hand.
"I want you to come to luncheon with me," she said. "I shall be alone to-morrow. Will you come?"
"Yes," Mariana responded, "to-morrow."