s that for
some it never is over, sir."

"Good heavens, have I done the wrong thing again?" thought Braybrooke,
who had chosen the play almost at random, without knowing much about it
except that an actor unknown to him, one Moscovitch, was said to be very
fine in it.

"How old is the singer?" he inquired anxiously.

"I couldn't say for certain, sir. But somewhere in the forties, I should
think, and nearing fifty. He loses his voice, sir, but still answers to
young women at the telephone."

"Dear! Dear!"

"But as my wife says, sir, with a man it's not such a great matter. But
with a woman--well!"

He pursed his narrow lips and half-shut his small grey eyes.

"Ah!" said Braybrooke, feeling extremely uncomfortable. "Good night,
Walter. You needn't sit up."

"Thank you, sir. Good night, sir."

"Really the evil eye must have looked at me!" thought Braybrooke, as he
went downstairs. "I'm thoroughly out of luck."

He arrived in good time at the Carlton and waited for his guests in the
Palm Court. Craven was the first to arrive. He looked cheerful and eager
as he came in, and, Braybrooke thought, very young and handsome. He had
got away from the F. O. that afternoon, he said, and had been down at
Beaconsfield playing golf. Apparently his game had been unusually good
and that fact had put him into spirits.

"There's nothing like being in form with one's drive for bucking one
up!" he acknowledged.

And he broke out into an almost boyish paean in praise of golf.

"But I always thought you preferred lawn tennis!" said Braybrooke.

"Oh, I don't know! Yes, I'm as keen as ever on tennis, but anyone can
play golf. Mrs. Sandhurst was out to-day playing a splendid game, and
she's well over sixty. That's the best of golf. People can play, and
play decently, too, up to almost any age."

"Well, but my dear boy you're not in the sixties yet!"

"No. But I wasn't thinking about myself."

Braybrooke looked at him rather narrowly, and wondered of whom he had
been thinking. But he said nothing more, for at this moment Miss Van
Tuyn appeared in the doorway at the end of the court. Braybrooke went to
meet her, but Craven stayed were he was.

"Is Adela Sellingworth coming?" she asked instantly, as Braybrooke took
her hand.

"She promised to come. I'm expecting her."

He made a movement, but she stood still, though they where close to the
doorway.

"And what are we going to see?"

"A play called _The Great Lover_. Here