seemed curiously to ignore certain
other influences--etc. etc.

"How true that is!" murmured Mrs. John.

The brown gentleman modestly enjoyed his triumph. With only three people
had he failed--Mr. Enwright, George, and the youngish woman next to
George.

"And how's Paris, Miss Ingram?" he pointedly asked the last.

George was surprised. He had certainly taken her for a married woman,
and one of his generalizations about life was that he did not like young
married women; hence he had not liked her. He now regarded her with
fresh interest. She blushed a little, and looked very young indeed.

"Oh! Paris is all right!" she answered shortly.

The brown gentleman after a long, musing smile, discreetly abandoned the
opening; but George, inquiring in a low voice if she lived in Paris,
began a private talk with Miss Ingram, who did live in Paris. He had his
doubts about her entire agreeableness, but at any rate they got on to a
natural, brusque footing, which contrasted with the somewhat ceremonious
manner of the general conversation. She exceeded George in brusqueness,
and tended to patronize him as a youngster. He noticed that she had
yellow eyes.

"What do you think of his wig?" she demanded in an astonishing whisper,
when the meal was over and chairs were being vacated.

"_Is_ it a wig?" George exclaimed ingenuously.

"Oh, you boys!" she protested, with superiority. "Of course it's a wig."

"But how do you know it's a wig?" George insisted stoutly.

"'Is it a wig!'" she scorned him.

"Well, I'm not up in wigs," said George. "Who is he, anyhow?"

"I forget his name. I've only met him once, here at tea. I think he's a
tea-merchant. He seemed to remember me all right."

"A tea-merchant! I wonder why Mrs. John put him on her right, then, and
Mr. Enwright on her left." George resented the precedence.

"Is Mr. Enwright really very great, then?"

"Great! You bet he is.... I was in Paris with him in the summer.
Whereabouts do you live in Paris?"

She improved, especially at the point where she said that Mr. Enwright's
face was one of the most wonderful faces that she had ever seen.
Evidently she knew Paris as well as George knew London. Apparently she
had always lived there. But their interchanges concerning Paris, on a
sofa in the drawing-room, were stopped by a general departure. Mr.
Enwright began it. The tea-merchant instantly supported the movement.
Miss Ingram herself rose. The affair was at an end. Nothing