While all this was going on downtown under the direction of the business end of the house of Breen, equally interesting events were taking place uptown under the guidance of its social head.

Strict orders had been given by Mrs.Breen the night before that certain dustings and arrangings of furniture should take place, the spacious stairs swept, and the hectic hired palms in their great china pots watered.

I say "the night before," because especial stress was laid upon the fact that on no account whatever were either Mrs.Breen or her daughter Corinne to be disturbed until noon--neither of them having retired until a late hour the night before.
So strictly were these orders carried out that all that did reach the younger woman's ear--and this was not until long after mid-day--was a scrap of news which crept upstairs from the breakfast table via Parkins wireless, was caught by Corinne's maid and delivered in manifold with that young lady's coffee and buttered rolls.

This when deciphered meant that Jack was not to be at the dance that evening--he having determined instead to spend his time up stairs with a disreputable old fellow whom he had picked up somewhere at a supper the preceding night.
Corinne thought over the announcement for a moment, gazed into the egg-shell cup that Hortense was filling from the tiny silver coffee-pot, and a troubled expression crossed her face.

"What has come over Jack ?" she asked herself.