rovocative tone, and defended himself not
very seriously. But she threw all her strength into the argument, and he
forgot that he had meant to go at once. When she chose she could talk
admirably, and she chose now. She had the most aggressive ways of
attacking, and then, in the same breath, the most subtle and softening
ways of yielding and, as it were, of asking pardon. Directly her
antagonist turned upon her he found himself disarmed he knew not how.
The disputant disappeared, and he felt the woman, restless, melancholy,
sympathetic, hungry for friendship and esteem, yet too proud to make any
direct bid for either. It was impossible not to be interested and
touched.

Such at least was the woman whom Robert Elsmere felt. Whether in his
hours of intimacy with her, twelve months before, young Alfred Evershed
had received the same impression may be doubted. In all things Eugenie
de Netteville was an artist.

Suddenly the curtain dividing them from the larger drawing-room was
drawn back, and Sir John Headlam stood in the doorway. He had the
glittering amused eyes of a malicious child as he looked at them.

'Very sorry, madame,' he began in his high cracked voice, 'but
Wharncliffe and I are off to the New Club to see Desforets. They have
got her there to-night.'

'Go,' she said, waving her hand to him, 'I don't envy you. She is not
what she was.'

'No, there is only one person,' he said, bowing with grotesque little
airs of gallantry, 'for whom time stands still.'

Madame de Netteville looked at him with smiling half-contemptuous
serenity. He bowed again, this time with ironical emphasis, and
disappeared.

'Perhaps I had better go back and send them off,' she said, rising. 'But
you and I have not had our talk out yet.'

She led the way into the drawing-room. Lady Aubrey was lying back on the
velvet sofa, a little green paroquet that was accustomed to wander
tamely about the room perching on her hand. She was holding the field
against Lord Rupert and Mr. Addlestone in a three-cornered duel of wits,
while M. de Querouelle sat by, his plump hands on his knees, applauding.

They all rose as their hostess came in.

'My dear' said Lady Aubrey, 'it is disgracefully early, but my country
before pleasure. It is the Foreign Office to-night, and since James took
office I can't with decency absent myself. I had rather be a
scullerymaid than a minister's wife. Lord Rupert, I will take you on if
you want a lift.'

She touc