st her. She had felt that in her
drawing-room with him. For some reason--perhaps only that of a social
busybody--he wanted to bring about a match between Craven and Miss Van
Tuyn. He had said with emphasis that Craven had almost raved about the
lovely American. Lady Sellingworth did not believe that assertion. She
felt sure that when he had made it Braybrooke had told her a lie.
Craven had amply proved to her his indifference towards Miss Van Tuyn.
Braybrooke's lie surely indicated a desire to detach his old friend's
attention from the young man he had introduced into her life, and
must mean that he was a little afraid of her influence. It had been
practically a suggestion to her that youth triumphant must win in
any battle with old age; yet it had implied a doubt, if not an actual
uneasiness. And now came this invitation to meet "our young friends."
Lady Sellingworth thought of the contrast between herself and Beryl Van
Tuyn. She had not worried about it in the _Bella Napoli_ when she and
the young friends were together. But now--things were different now.
She had, or believed she had, something to lose. And she did not want to
lose it. It would be horrible to lose it!

Perhaps Braybrooke wished Craven to see her with Beryl Van Tuyn in the
glare of electric light. Perhaps that was the reason of this unexpected
invitation. If so, it was an almost diabolically cruel reason.

She resolved to refuse the invitation. But again a voice through the
telephone caused her to change her mind. And again it was Craven's
voice. It asked her whether she had received an invitation from
Braybrooke, and on her replying that she had, it begged her to accept it
if she had not done so already. And she yielded. If Craven wished her
to go she would go. Why should she be afraid? In her ugliness surely she
triumphed as no beauty could ever triumph. She told herself that and for
a moment felt reassured, more than reassured, safe and happy. For the
inner thing, the dweller in the temple, felt that it, and it alone, was
exercising intimate power. But then a look into the glass terrified
her. And she sat down and wrote two notes. One was to Francis Braybrooke
accepting the invitation; the other was to a man with a Greek name and
was addressed to a house in South Moulton Street.

Francis Braybrooke felt rather uneasy about his party when the day came,
but he was a man of the world, and resolved to "put a good face on
it." No more social catastroph