y or a super-nut. After he had ordered his
lunch there came the unavoidable interval of waiting, with nothing to do
but to stare at the flower-vase on his table and to be stared at (in
imagination) by several flappers, some maturer beings of the same sex,
and a satirical-looking Jew. In order to carry off the situation with
some appearance of unconcern he became spuriously interested in the
contents of the flower-vase.

"What is the name of these roses, d'you know?" he asked the waiter. The
waiter was ready at all times to conceal his ignorance concerning items
of the wine-list or menu; he was frankly ignorant as to the specific name
of the roses.

"_Amy Sylvester Partinglon_," said a voice at Jerton's elbow.

The voice came from a pleasant-faced, well-dressed young woman who was
sitting at a table that almost touched Jerton's. He thanked her
hurriedly and nervously for the information, and made some inconsequent
remark about the flowers.

"It is a curious thing," said the young woman, that, "I should be able to
tell you the name of those roses without an effort of memory, because if
you were to ask me my name I should be utterly unable to give it to you."

Jerton had not harboured the least intention of extending his thirst for
name-labels to his neighbour. After her rather remarkable announcement,
however, he was obliged to say something in the way of polite inquiry.

"Yes," answered the lady, "I suppose it is a case of partial loss of
memory. I was in the train coming down here; my ticket told me that I
had come from Victoria and was bound for this place. I had a couple of
five-pound notes and a sovereign on me, no visiting cards or any other
means of identification, and no idea as to who I am. I can only hazily
recollect that I have a title; I am Lady Somebody--beyond that my mind is
a blank."

"Hadn't you any luggage with you?" asked Jerton.

"That is what I didn't know. I knew the name of this hotel and made up
my mind to come here, and when the hotel porter who meets the trains
asked if I had any luggage I had to invent a dressing-bag and
dress-basket; I could always pretend that they had gone astray. I gave
him the name of Smith, and presently he emerged from a confused pile of
luggage and passengers with a dressing-bag and dress-basket labelled
Kestrel-Smith. I had to take them; I don't see what else I could have
done."

Jerton said nothing, but he rather wondered what the lawful owner of t