rosvenor Square. Nevertheless,
he was conscious of a little annoyance as he followed the servant up the
broad stairs. He would much have preferred waiting until Borrowdean had
concluded his call. He remembered his grey travelling clothes, and all
his natural distaste for social amenities returned with unabated force as
he neared the reception-rooms and heard the softly modulated rise and
fall of feminine voices, the swishing of silks and muslin, the faint
perfume of flowers and scents which seemed to fill the air. At the last
moment he would have withdrawn, but his guide seemed deaf. His words
passed unheeded. His name, very softly but very distinctly, had been
announced. He had no option but to pass into the room and play the cards
which fate and his friend had dealt him.

Borrowdean rose to greet his friend. Mannering, not knowing who his
hostess might be, and feeling absolutely no curiosity concerning her,
confined his attention wholly to the man whom he had come to seek.

"I did not wish to disturb you here, Borrowdean," he said, quickly, "but
if your call is over, could you come away for a few minutes? I have a
matter to discuss with you."

Borrowdean smiled slightly, and laid his hand upon the other's shoulder.

"By all means, Mannering," he answered. "But since you have discovered
our little secret, don't you think that you had better speak to our
hostess?"

Mannering was puzzled, but his eyes followed Borrowdean's slight gesture.
Berenice, who at the sound of his voice had suddenly abandoned her
conversation and risen to her feet, was within a few feet of him. A
sudden light swept into Mannering's face.

"You!" he exclaimed softly.

Her hands went out towards him. Borrowdean, with an almost imperceptible
movement, checked his advance.

"So you see we are found out, after all, Duchess," he said, turning to
her. "You have known Mrs. Handsell, Mannering, let me present you now to
her other self. Duchess, you see that our recluse has come to his senses
at last. I must really introduce you formally: Mr. Mannering--the Duchess
of Lenchester."

Berenice, arrested in her forward movement, watched Mannering's face
eagerly. So carefully modulated had been Borrowdean's voice that no word
of his had reached beyond their own immediate circle. It was as though a
silent tableau were being played out between the three, and Mannering, to
whom repression had become a habit, gave little indication of anything he
might h