to receive her.
But he made no motion to do this; not being, in fact, sufficient master
of his legs.

"Good-evening, my lord!" She swept him a curtsy. "You sent for me?"

Before he could answer, she had lowered her eyes. They rested on a
chair that happened to stand empty beside Batty Langton, and a slight
inclination of the head gave Langton to understand that she wished him
to offer it. He did so, and she moved to it. The men, embarrassed for
a moment by their host's silence--they had expected him to answer her,
but he stood staring angrily as one rebuffed--followed her cue and
reseated themselves. He, too, dropped back in his chair, leaned forward
for the decanter, and poured himself more wine. The buzz of talk
revived, at first a word or two here and there, tentative after the
check, then more confidently. Within a minute the voices were babel
again.

Batty Langton pondered. A baronet should not be addressed as "my lord,"
and she had been guilty of a solecism. At the same time her manner had
been perfect; her carriage admirably self-possessed. Her choice of a
seat, too, at the end of the table and furthest from Sir Oliver--if she
had come unwillingly--had been wittily taken, and on the moment, and
with the appearance of deliberate ease.

"They will be calling on you presently to drink our host's health," he
suggested, clearing a space of the table in front of her and collecting
very dexterously two or three unused wine-glasses. Champagne? . . .
Miss Quiney is drinking champagne, I see, though her neighbours have
deserted it for red wine. Sir Oliver, by the way, grows lazy in pushing
the decanters. . . . Shall I signal to him?"

"On no account. Champagne, if you please . . . though I had rather you
kept it in readiness."

"I am sorry, Miss Josselin, but there you ask of me the one thing
impossible. I cannot abide to let wine stand and wait; and champagne--
watch it, how it protests!" He filled her glass and refilled his own.
"By the way," he added, sinking his voice, "one is permitted to
congratulate a debutante?"

"And to criticise."

"There was nothing to criticise except--Oh, well, a trifle. At home in
England we don't 'my lord' a mere baronet, you know."

"But since he _is_ my lord?" She smiled gently, answering his puzzled
stare. "How, otherwise, should I be here?"

Mr. Langton took wine to digest this. He shook his head. "You must
forgive me. It is clear that I am drunk--abom