ure, in her deep mourning. She frowned as she saw the
crowd in the room.

"I'll come another time!" she said, hastily, to her mother, beginning to
retreat.

"Oh, Kitty!" cried Madame d'Estrees, in distress, holding her fast.

At that moment Harman, who was watching them both with keenness, saw
that Kitty had perceived Mademoiselle Ricci. The actress had paused in
her chatter to stare at the new-comer. She sat fronting the entrance,
her head insolently thrown back, knees crossed, a cigarette poised in
the plump and dimpled hand.

A start ran through Kitty's small person. She allowed her mother to lead
her in and introduce her to Donna Laura.

"Ah-ha, my lady!" said Harman, to himself. "Are you, perhaps, interested
in the Ricci? Is it possible even that you have seen her before?"

Kitty, however, betrayed herself to no one else. To other people it was
only evident that she did not mean to be introduced to the actress. She
pointedly and sharply avoided it. This was interpreted as aristocratic
<i>hauteur</i>, and did her no harm. On the contrary, she was soon chattering
French with a group of diplomats, and the centre of the most animated
group in the room. All the new-comers who could attached themselves to
it, and the actress found herself presently almost deserted. She put up
her eye-glass, studied Kitty impertinently, and asked a man sitting near
her for the name of the strange lady.

"Isn't she lovely, my little Kitty!" said Madame d'Estrees, in the ears
of a Bavarian baron, who was also much occupied in staring at the small
beauty in black. "I may say it, though I am her mother. And my
son-in-law, too. Have you seen him? Such a handsome fellow!--and <i>such</i>
a dear!--so kind to me. They <i>say</i>, you know, that he will be Prime
Minister."

The baron bowed, ironically, and inquired who the gentleman might be. He
had not caught Kitty's name, and Madame d'Estrees had been for some time
labelled in his mind as something very near to an adventuress.

Madame d'Estrees eagerly explained, and he bowed again, with a
difference. He was a man of great intelligence, acquainted with English
politics. So that was <i>really</i> the wife of the man to whose personality
and future the London correspondent of the <i>Allgemeine Zeitung</i> had
within the preceding week devoted a particularly interesting article,
which he had read with attention. His estimate of Madame d'Estrees'
place in the world altered at once. Yet it