eplied. "But
Fenella," he added, "I am not very busy myself. Is it absolutely
necessary that you lunch with your brother? Perhaps, even if it is,
he can put up with my society for once."

She threw a kiss to him from the door.

"Unreasonable person!" she exclaimed. "To-day it is absolutely
necessary that I lunch with Andrea. You must go to your club if you
are not busy, and play billiards or something. Come, Mr. Chetwode,"
she added, turning towards the door, "we have barely a quarter of an
hour to get to the Carlton. I dare not be late. The only person,"
she went on, as they passed through the outer office and Arnold
paused for a moment to take down his hat and coat, "whom I really
fear in this world is Andrea."

Mr. Weatherley remained for a moment in the chair where she had left
him, gazing idly at the counterfoil of the cheque. Then he rose and
from a safe point of vantage watched the car drive off. With slow,
leaden footsteps he returned to his seat. It was past his own
regular luncheon hour, but he made no movement to leave the place.

CHAPTER XI

AN INTERRUPTED LUNCHEON

The great car swung to the right, out of Tooley Street and joined
the stream of traffic making its slow way across London Bridge.
Fenella took the tube from its place by her side and spoke in
Italian to the chauffeur. When she replaced it, she turned to
Arnold.

"Do you understand what I said?" she asked.

"Only a word or two," he replied. "You told him to go somewhere else
instead of to the Carlton, didn't you?"

She nodded, and lay back for a moment, silent, among the luxurious
cushions. Her mood seemed suddenly to have changed. She was no
longer gay. She watched the faces of the passers-by pensively.
Presently she pointed out of the window to a gray-bearded old man
tottering along in the gutter with a trayful of matches. A cold wind
was blowing through his rags.

"Look!" she exclaimed. "Look at that! In my own country, yes, but
here I do not understand. They tell me that this is the richest city
in the world, and the most charitable."

"There must be poor everywhere," Arnold replied, a little puzzled.

She stared at him.

"It is not your laws I would complain of," she said. "It is your
individuals. Look at him--a poor, shivering, starved creature,
watching a constant stream of well-fed, well-clothed, smug men of
business, passing always within a few feet of him. Why does he not
help himself to what he wants?"

"How