o tell that to my
friends, in order that I may keep them. Tell me, have you begun the
country letters yet for Mr. Anderson?"

"I send my first one away on Thursday," Douglas answered.

"You will send me a proof?"

"If I may, with pleasure."

She turned to Drexley.

"And you, my friend," she said, "how have things gone with you? The
_Ibex_ is as good as ever. I bought this month's at a kiosk in Buda. You
must get Mr. Jesson to write you more stories as good as 'No Man's
Land.'"

Drexley looked up at her with a grim smile twitching at the corners of
his lips.

"Yes," he said, quietly. "It was a good story, although I am afraid we
rather humbugged Jesson about it. I'm not at all sure that he'll trust
us with another."

She returned Drexley's look with a stare of non-comprehension. It was
the first sign of revolt from one in whom she had thought all along such
a thing dead. Then with a pleasant nod to Douglas she passed on,
threading her way slowly amongst the tables to where her friends were
waiting. It was not until after she had gone that the two men realised
how utterly she had ignored their two companions.

They took up the thread of their conversation--and it was the unexpected
which intervened. Drexley relaxed still further; there was a quiet
humour in everything he said; he took upon his shoulders the whole
entertainment of the little party. The coming of Emily de Reuss might
well have been a matter of indifference to him. With Douglas it was
strangely different. To him she had never seemed more beautiful; the
fascination of her near presence, her voice, her exquisite toilette
crept into his blood. He was silent at first, a bright light gleamed in
his eyes, he watched her continually. A sense of aloofness crept over
him. He spoke and ate mechanically, scarcely noticing that he was
drinking a good deal more wine than usual. Once he glanced quickly at
Cicely; her cheeks were flushed, and she was looking her best--he saw
only her imperfections. Her prettiness, after all, was ordinary; her
simple evening gown, even to his inexperienced eyes, suggested the home
dressmaker; that slight tenderness for her which only a few days ago had
seemed such a pleasant thing seemed suddenly swept away in the broad
flood of a passion against which unconsciously he had long been
struggling. He forced himself after a while to share in their
conversation, he joined in their laughter and listened to Drexley's
stories, but all