annoyance and
amusement. She was of little over the medium height, exceedingly
slim--a slimness which was accentuated by the fashion of the gown
she wore. Her face was absolutely devoid of color, but her features
were almost cameo-like in their sensitive perfection. Her eyes were
large and soft and brown, her hair a Titian red, worn low and
without ornament. Her dress was of pale blue satin, which somehow
had the effect of being made in a single piece, without seam or
joining. Her neck and throat, exquisitely white, were bare except
for a single necklace of pearls which reached almost to her knees.
The look in Arnold's face, as she came slowly into the room, was one
of frank and boyish admiration. The woman came towards him with a
soft smile about her lips, but she was evidently puzzled. It was Mr.
Weatherley who spoke. There was something almost triumphant in his
manner.

"This is Mr. Chetwode, dear, of whom I was speaking to you," he
said. "Glad to see you, Chetwode," he added, with ponderous
condescension.

The woman laughed softly as she held out her hand.

"Are you going to pretend that you were deaf, to forgive me and be
friends, Mr. Chetwode?" she asked, looking up at him. "One foggy
day my husband took me to Tooley Street, and I did not believe that
anything good could come out of the yellow fog and the mud and the
smells. It was my ignorance. You heard, but you do not mind? I am
sure that you do not mind?"

"Not a bit in the world," Arnold answered, still holding the hand
which she seemed to have forgotten to draw away, and smiling down
into her upturned face. "I was awfully sorry to overhear but you see
I couldn't very well help it, could I?"

"Of course you could not help it," she replied. "I am so glad that
you came and I hope that we can make it pleasant for you. I will try
and send you in to dinner with some one very charming."

She laughed at him understandingly as his lips parted and closed
again without speech. Then she turned away to welcome some other
guests, who were at that moment announced. Arnold stood in the
background for a few minutes. Presently she came back to him.

"Do you know any one here?" she asked.

"No one," he answered.

She dropped her voice almost to a whisper. Arnold bent his head and
listened with a curious pleasure to her little stream of words.

"It is a strange mixture of people whom you see here," she said, "a
mixture, perhaps, of the most prosaic and the most r