l her that to-night."

"To-night?"

"Yes; it's with them that Dorothea and I are dining. The name conveying
nothing to you, you probably didn't remember it. The fact is that, as
Mrs. Bayford is the sister of my uncle's partner--my partner, too--I
make it a point to be very civil to her twice a year--once when I dine
with her, and once when she dines with me. The annual festivals have
been delayed this season because she has only just returned from a long
visit to Japan and India, with Marion in her wake."

There had been so much to say which, in the glamour of that glorious
afternoon, was more important that no further time was spent on the
topic. Derek forgot the meeting till Mrs. Bayford recalled it to him as
he sat beside her in the evening. She was one of those small, ill-shapen
women whose infirmities are thrown into more conspicuous relief by dress
and jewels and _decolletage_. Seated at the head of her table, she
produced the impression of a Goddess of Discord at a feast of
well-meaning, hapless mortals.

"I want a word with you," she said, parenthetically, to Derek, on her
left, before turning her attention to the more important neighbor on her
right.

"One is scant measure," he laughed, in reply, "but I must be grateful
even for that."

It was the middle of dinner before she took notice of him again, but
when she did she plunged into her subject boldly.

"I suppose you didn't think I knew who you were walking with this
afternoon?"

"Yes, I did, because the lady recognized you. She said you and Mrs.
Grimston were among the nice people in Paris whom she hadn't met--but
whom she knew very well by sight."

If Derek thought this reply calculated to appease an angry deity, he
discovered his mistake.

"Did she have the indecency to say she hadn't met me?"

"I think she did; but she probably didn't know that the word indecency
could apply to anything connected with you."

"Why, I was introduced to her four times in one season!"

"I suppose she hasn't as good a memory as yours."

"Oh, as for that, it wasn't a matter of memory. Nobody was permitted to
forget her--she was quite notorious."

"I've always heard that in Paris the mere possession of beauty is enough
to keep any one in the public eye."

"It wasn't beauty alone--if she _has_ beauty; though for my part I can't
see it."

"It _is_ of rather an elusive quality."

"It must be. But if it exists at all, I can tell you that it's of a
dangerous