in stratum
of London. When, every now and then, in the pauses of their own
conversation, Elsmere caught something of the chatter going on at the
other end of the table, or when the party became fused into one for a
while under the genial influence of a good story or the exhilaration of
a personal skirmish, the whole scene--the dainty oval room, the lights,
the servants, the exquisite fruit and flowers, the gleaming silver, the
tapestried walls--would seem to him for an instant like a mirage, a
dream, yet with something glittering and arid about it which a dream
never has.

The hard self-confidence of these people--did it belong to the same
world as that humbling, that heavenly self-abandonment which had shone
on him that afternoon from Charles Richards's begrimed and blood-stained
face? '_Blessed are the poor in spirit_,' he said to himself once with
an inward groan. 'Why am I here? Why am I not at home with Catherine?'

But Madame de Netteville was pleasant to him. He had never seen her so
womanly, never felt more grateful for her delicate social skill. As she
talked to him, or to the Frenchman, of literature, or politics, or
famous folk, flashing her beautiful eyes from one to the other, Sir John
Headlam would, every now and then, turn his odd puckered face
observantly towards the farther end of the table.

'By Jove!' he said afterwards to Wharncliffe as they walked away from
the door together, 'she was inimitable to-night; she has more _roles_
than Desforets!' Sir John and his hostess were very old friends.

Upstairs smoking began, Lady Aubrey and Madame de Netteville joining in.
M. de Querouelle, having talked the best of his _repertoire_ at dinner,
was now inclined for amusement, and had discovered that Lady Aubrey
could amuse him, and was, moreover, _une belle personne_. Madame de
Netteville was obliged to give some time to Lord Rupert. The other men
stood chatting politics and the latest news, till Robert, conscious of a
complete failure of social energy, began to look at his watch. Instantly
Madame de Netteville glided up to him.

'Mr. Elsmere, you have talked no business to me, and I must know how my
affairs in Elgood Street are getting on. Come into my little
writing-room.' And she led him into a tiny panelled room at the far end
of the drawing-room and shut off from it by a heavy curtain, which she
now left half-drawn.

'The latest?' said Fred Wharncliffe to Lady Aubrey, raising his eyebrows
with the s