hcawl, and the man with her is Roger Ducrot, the
banker. Porthcawl is a most complaisant husband. He never comes within
a thousand miles of Millicent. She is awfully nice; clever, and witty,
and the rest of it--quite a man's woman. We are sure to meet her in
the lounge after dinner and I will introduce you."

Cynthia said she would be delighted. Reading between the lines of Mrs.
Devar's description, it was not easy to comprehend the distinction
that forbade friendship with Fitzroy while offering it with Millicent,
Countess of Porthcawl. But the girl was resolved not to open a new
rift. In her heart she longed for the day that would reunite her to
her father; meanwhile, Mrs. Devar must be dealt with gently.

Despite its tame ending, this unctuous discussion on social ethics led
to wholly unforeseen results.

The allusion to a possible pier at Bournemouth meant more than Mrs.
Devar imagined, but Cynthia resisted the allurements of another
entrancing evening, went early to her room, and wrote duty letters for
a couple of hours. The excuse served to cut short her share of the
Countess's brilliant conversation, though Mr. Ducrot tried to make
himself very agreeable when he heard the name of Vanrenen.

Medenham, standing in the hall, suddenly came face to face with Lady
Porthcawl, who was endowed with an unerring eye for minute shades of
distinction in the evening dress garments of the opposite sex. Her
correspondence consisted largely of picture postcards, and she had
just purchased some stamps from the hall porter when she saw Medenham
take a telegram from the rack where it had been reposing since the
afternoon. It was, she knew, addressed to "Viscount Medenham." That,
and her recollection of his father, banished doubt.

"George!" she cried, with a charming air of having found the one man
whom she was longing to meet, "don't say I've grown so old that you
have forgotten me!"

He started, rather more violently than might be looked for in a
shikari whose nerves had been tested in many a ticklish encounter with
other members of the cat tribe. In fact, he had just been disturbed by
coming across the unexpected telegram, wherein Simmonds assured his
lordship that the rejuvenated car would arrive at the College Green
Hotel, Bristol, on Friday evening. At the very moment that he realized
the imminence of Cynthia's disappearance into the void it was doubly
disconcerting to be hailed by a woman who knew his world so intimately