owed him upstairs. The band had stopped, and there was the
distant hum of voices and the crackle of plates. Waiters were coming and
going from the dining-room, and the butler stood at the door giving
instructions. At one moment there was a glimpse within of ladies in
gorgeous dresses, and a table laden with silver and bright with
fairy-lamps. When the door opened the voices grew louder, when it closed
the sounds were deadened.

The upper landing opened on to a _salon_ which had three windows down to
the ground, and half of each stood open. Outside there was a wide terrace
lit up by Chinese and Moorish lanterns. Beyond was the dark patch of the
park, and farther still the towers of the Abbey and the clock of
Westminster, but the great light was not burning to-night.

"De House naivare sits on Vednesday night," said Koenig.

They passed into the drawing-room, which was empty. The standing lamps
were subdued by coverings of yellow-silk lace. There was a piano and an
organ.

"Ve'll stay here," said Koenig, opening the organ, and Glory stood by his
side.

Presently there were ripples of laughter, sounds of quick,
indistinguishable voices, waves of heliotrope, and the rustle of silk
dresses on the stairs. Then the ladies entered. Two or three of them who
were elderly leaned their right hands on the arms of younger women, and
walked with ebony sticks in their left. An old lady wearing black satin
and a large brooch came last. Koenig rose and bowed to her. Glory
prepared to bow also, but the lady gave her a side inclination of the
head as she sat in a well-cushioned chair under a lamp, and Glory's bow
was abridged.

The ladies sat and talked, and Glory tried to listen. There were little
nothings, punctuated by trills of feminine laughter. She thought the
conversation rather silly. More than once the ladies lifted their
lorgnettes and looked at her. She set her lips hard and looked back
without flinching.

A footman brought tea on a tray, and then there was the tinkle of cup and
saucer, and more laughter. The lady in satin looked round at Koenig, and
he began to play the organ. He played superbly, but nobody seemed to
listen. When he finished there was a pause, and everybody said: "Oh,
thank you; we're all--er----" and then the talk began again. The vocal
soloist sang some ballad of Schumann, and as long as it lasted an old
lady with an ear-trumpet sat at the foot of the piano, and a young girl
spoke into it. When it wa