tunity for some wholly fresh combination
involving new blood.

"In any case," said Cliffe, "I suppose our friend here is sure of one or
other of the big posts?"

"William Ashe? Oh, I suppose so, unless some intrigue gets in the way."
Darrell dropped his voice. "Parham doesn't, in truth, hit it off with
him very well. Ashe is too clever, and Parham doesn't understand his
paradoxes."

"Also I gather," said Cliffe, with a smile, "that Lady Parham has her
say?"

Darrell shrugged his shoulders.

"It sounds incredible that one should still have to reckon with that
kind of thing at this time of day. But I dare say it's true."

"However, I imagine Lady Kitty--by-the-way, how much longer shall we
give her?"--Cliffe looked at his watch with a frown--"may be trusted to
take care of that."

Darrell merely raised his eyebrows, without replying. "What, not a
match for one Lady Parham?" said Cliffe, with a laugh. "I should have
thought--from my old recollections of her--she would have been a match
for twenty?"

"Oh, if she cared to try."

"She is not ambitious?"

"Certainly; but not always for the same thing."

"She is trying to run too many horses abreast?"

"Oh, I am not a great friend," said Darrell, smiling. "I should never
dream of analyzing Lady Kitty. Ah!"--he turned his head--"are we not
forgotten, or just remembered--which?"

For a rapid step approached, the door opened, and a lady appeared on the
threshold. It was not Kitty, however. The new-comer advanced, putting up
a pair of fashionable eye-glasses, and looking at the two men in a kind
of languid perplexity, intended, as Darrell immediately said to himself,
merely to prolong the moment and the effect of her entry. Mrs. Alcot was
very tall, and inordinately thin. Her dark head on its slim throat, the
poetic lines of the brow, her half-shut eyes, the gleam of her white
teeth, and all the delicate detail of her dress, and, one might even
say, of her manner, gave an impression of beauty, though she was not, in
truth, beautiful. But she had grace and she had daring--the two
essential qualities of an Archangel; she was also a remarkable artist,
and no small critic.

"Mr. Cliffe," she said, with a start of what was evidently agreeable
surprise, "Kitty never told me. When did you come?"

"I arrived a few days ago. Why weren't you at the embassy last night?"

"Because I was much better employed. I have given up crushes. But I
would have come--to meet you. Ah,