e," she
observed, as she gave him her hand. "The last time I met you was at the
Old Bailey, when you had been cheating the gallows of a very respectable
wife murderer. Poynings, I think his name was."

"I remember it perfectly," Francis assented. "We danced together
that night, I remember, at your aunt's, Mrs. Malcolm's, and you were
intensely curious to know how Poynings had spent his evening."

"Lady Cynthia's reminder is perhaps a little unfortunate," Sir Timothy
observed. "Mr. Ledsam is no longer the last hope of the enterprising
criminal. He has turned over a new leaf. To secure the services of his
silver tongue, you have to lay at his feet no longer the bags of gold
from your ill-gotten gains but the white flower of the blameless life."

"This is all in the worst possible taste," Margaret Hilditch declared,
in her cold, expressionless tone. "You might consider my feelings."

Lady Cynthia only laughed.

"My dear Margaret," she said, "if I thought that you had any, I should
never believe that you were your father's daughter. Here's to them,
anyway," she added, accepting the cocktail from the tray which the
butler had just brought out. "Mr. Ledsam, are you going to attach
yourself to me, or has Margaret annexed you?"

"I have offered myself to Mrs. Hilditch," Francis rejoined promptly,
"but so far I have made no impression."

"Try her with a punt and a concertina after dinner," Lady Cynthia
suggested. "After all, I came down here to better my acquaintance with
my host. You flirted with me disgracefully when I was a debutante, and
have never taken any notice of me since. I hate infidelity in a man. Sir
Timothy, I shall devote myself to you. Can you play a concertina?"

"Where the higher forms of music are concerned," he replied, "I have no
technical ability. I should prefer to sit at your feet."

"While I punt, I suppose?"

"There are backwaters," he suggested.

Lady Cynthia sipped her cocktail appreciatively.

"I wonder how it is," she observed, "that in these days, although
we have become callous to everything else in life, cocktails and
flirtations still attract us. You shall take me to a backwater after
dinner, Sir Timothy. I shall wear my silver-grey and take an armful of
those black cushions from the drawing-room. In that half light, there is
no telling what success I may not achieve."

Sir Timothy sighed.

"Alas!" he said, "before dinner is over you will probably have changed
your mind."

"Pe