Miss Wangle looked at Miss Sikkum and mentally thanked Heaven and the
bishop that she had restrained her abandoned impulse to remove the
black lace from her own neck.

Mr. Bolton's attention was concentrated upon the centre stud of his
shirt. The button-hole was too large, and the head of the stud
insisted on disappearing in a most coquettish and embarrassing manner.
Mr. Bolton was not sure that Bowen would approve of blue underwear, and
consequently kept a finger and thumb upon his stud for the greater part
of the evening.

As each entered the lounge, it was with a hurried glance round to see
if the guest of the evening had arrived, followed by a sigh of relief
on discovering that he had not. Mrs. Craske-Morton had taken the
precaution of deferring the dinner until eight o'clock. She wished
Bowen's entry to be dramatic.

Mrs. Craske-Morton had asked a few friends of her own to meet her
distinguished guest; a Miss Plimsoll, who was composed in claret colour
and royal blue trimming, and Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Ragbone. Mrs. Ragbone
was a stout, jolly woman with a pronounced cockney accent. Mr. Ragbone
was a man whose eyebrows seemed to rise higher with each year, and
whose manner of patient suffering became more pathetically unreal with
the passage of each season. Mrs. Craske-Morton always explained him as
a solicitor. Morton, Gofrim and Bowett, of Lincoln's Inn, knew him as
their chief clerk.

The atmosphere of the lounge was one of nervous tension. All were
listening for the bell which would announce the arrival of Bowen. When
at last he came, everybody was taken by surprise, Mr. Bolton's stud
eluded his grasp, Mr. Sefton felt his back hair, whilst Miss Sikkum
blushed rosily at her own daring.

A dead silence spread over the company, broken by Gustave, who,
throwing open the door with a flourish, announced "Lieutenant-Colonel
Lord Peter Bowen, D.S.O." Bowen gave him a quick glance with widened
eyes, then coming forward, shook hands with Mrs. Craske-Morton.

Miss Sikkum was disappointed to find that he was in khaki. She had a
vague idea that the nobility adopted different evening clothes from the
ordinary rank and file. It would have pleased her to see Bowen with
velvet stripes down his trousers, a velvet collar and velvet cuffs. A
coloured silk waistcoat would have convinced her.

Mrs. Craske-Morton was determined to do her work thoroughly. She had
taken the precaution of telling Patricia that din