bilities in connexion with the famous Adela, once of
the "old guard," but long since traitress to it.

And he felt as if he were made of glass beneath those experienced and
calmly investigating eyes, as he talked steadily about acting till
the bell went for the second act, and Lady Sellingworth and Braybrooke
returned to the box.

"Come and see me," said Mrs. Ackroyde, getting up. "You never come near
me. And come down to Coombe to lunch one Sunday."

"Thank you very much. I will."

"And bring Adela with you!"

With a casual nod or two, and a "Come, Bobbie, I am sure you have
flirted quite enough with Beryl by this time!" she went out of the box,
followed by her grim but good-looking cavalier.

"You must sit in front through this act."

Braybrooke spoke.

"Oh, but--"

"No, really--I insist! You don't see properly behind."

Craven took the chair between the two women. As he did so he glanced
at Miss Van Tuyn. His chair was certainly nearer to hers than to Lady
Sellingworth's, much nearer. Syng had sat in it and must have moved
it. As she half turned and said something to Craven her bare silky arm
touched his sleeve, and their faces were very near together. Her eyes
spoke to him definitely, called him to be young again with her. And as
the curtain went up she whispered:

"It was I who insisted on a party of four to-night."

Lady Sellingworth and Braybrooke were talking together, and Craven
answered:

"To Mr. Braybrooke?"

"Yes; so that we might have a nice little time. And Adela and he are old
friends and contemporaries! I knew they would be happy together."

Craven shrank inwardly as he heard Miss Van Tuyn say "Adela," but he
only nodded and tried to return adequately the expression in her eyes.
Then he looked across the theatre, and saw Mrs. Ackroyde speaking to
Lady Wrackley. After a moment they both gazed at him, and, seeing his
eyes fixed on her, Lady Wrackley let go her smile at him and made a
little gesture with her hand.

"She knows too--damn her!" thought Craven, impolitely.

He set his teeth.

"They know everything, these women! It's useless to try to have the
smallest secret from them!"

And then he said to himself what so many have said:

"What does it matter what they know, what they think, what they say? I
don't care!"

But he did care. He hated their knowing of his friendship with Lady
Sellingworth, and it seemed to him that they were scattering dust all
over the dew of his feel