aurencine?"

Laurencine was being monopolized by Everard.

"What did you say?" the girl asked, collecting herself.

"I was just saying what an angel Lois is."

"Oh, she _is_!" the younger sister agreed, with immense and sincere
emphasis.

George, startled, said to himself suddenly:

"Was I mistaken in her? Some girls you _are_ mistaken in! They're
regular bricks, but they keep it from you at first."

Somehow, in spite of a slight superficial mortification, he was very
pleased by the episode of the conversation, and his curiosity was
titillated.

"Lois would have come to-night instead of Laurencine," Miss Wheeler went
on, "only she wasn't feeling very well."

"Is she in London? I've only seen her once from that day to this, and
then we didn't get near each other owing to the crush. So we didn't
speak. It was at Mrs. Orgreave's."

"Yes, I know."

"Did she tell you?"

"Yes."

"Is she at your flat?"

"Yes; but she's not well."

"Not in bed, I hope, or anything like that?"

"Oh no! She's not in bed."

Laurencine threw laughingly across the table:

"She's as well as I am."

It was another aspect of the younger sister.

When they left the restaurant it was nearly empty. They left easily,
slowly, magnificently. The largesse of Everard Lucas--his hat slightly
raked--in the foyer and at the portico was magnificent in both quantity
and manner. There was no need to hurry; the hour, though late for the
end of dinner, was early for separation. They moved and talked without
the slightest diffidence, familiar and confident; the whole world was
reformed and improved for them by the stimulus of food and alcohol. The
night was sultry and dark. The two women threw their cloaks back from
their shoulders, revealing the whiteness of toilettes. At the door the
head-lights of Miss Wheeler's automobile shot horizontally right across
Regent Street. The chauffeur recognized George, and George recognized
the car; he was rather surprised that Miss Wheeler had not had a new car
in eighteen months. Lucas spoke of his own car, which lay beyond in the
middle of the side-street like a ship at anchor. He spoke in such a
strain that Miss Wheeler deigned to ask him to drive her home in it. The
two young men went to light the head-lights. George noticed the angry
scowl on Everard's face when three matches had been blown out in the
capricious breeze. The success of the fourth match restored his face to
perfect benignity. He made th