"You must run over this winter and see us," she said. "I anticipate nothing but dinners, balls and diplomatic receptions. I have never been there, it will all be new to me. Think of seeing Egypt, the Holy Lands, Russia, France and Spain, and yet not seeing the very heart of the continent! Thank goodness, I know the language."
"And will she not be a sensation?" joined in Ethel.
"A decided sensation," said I, scrutinizing the beautiful face so near me. What if they met, as probably they would—Phyllis and Gretchen? "Phyllis," said I, suddenly, "where were you born?"
"Where was I born?" with a wondering little laugh; "in America. Where did you suppose?"
"Eden," said I. "I wasn't sure, so I asked."
"I do not know how to take that," she said, with mock severity.
"Oh, I meant Eden when it was Paradise," I hastened to say.
"Yes," put in Pembroke; "please go back, Miss Landors, and begin the world all over again."
"Phyllis," said I, in a whisper, "have you ever met that remarkable affinity of yours?" I regretted the words the moment they had crossed my lips.
"Yes, you are changed, as I said the other night," distrustfully. "There is something in your voice that is changed. You have grown cynical. But your question was impertinent. Have you found yours?"