iving thing, a
well-beloved child.

He had often sold, pawned his belongings for bread, and as often had
forgotten his cold and hunger because his precious violin had remained
in his possession; that he had never pawned.

Drake nodded, as if he understood; then he looked round.

"Isn't there some supper going, Mrs. Hawksley?" he said pleasantly.

The old lady curtsied in stately fashion.

"Yes, my lord."

"Then it's high time Mr. Falconer--and the rest of us--were at it," he
said; and, with a smile and a nod, he left the gallery.

He would have taken Falconer with him to the supper in the banquet room
below, but he knew that, though none of the men or women there would
have remarked, or cared about, the old velvet jacket, the musician would
be conscious of it, and be embarrassed by it.

While Drake had been absent, Lady Luce had stood, apparently listening
with profound attention and sympathy, but the movement of her fan almost
gave her away, for it grew rapid now and again, and when Lord Turfleigh
came up beside her, his hawklike eyes glancing sharply, like those of a
bird of prey, from their fat rims, she shot an angry and unfilial glance
at him.

"Where's Drake?" he asked, lowering his thick voice.

"Up there in that gallery somewhere; gone to pay compliments to that
fiddler fellow who is playing now."

"Gad!" said his lordship, with a stare of contempt at the rapt audience.
"What the devil does he want with the 'Dead March in Saul,' or whatever
it is, in the middle of a dance. Always thought he was mad! Has he
spoken, said anything?"

He lowered his voice still more, and eyed her eagerly.

She shook her head slightly by way of answer, and the coarse face
reddened.

"Curse me, if I can understand it--or you," he said, his hand tugging
at his dyed mustache. "You told me, God knows how long ago, that he was
'on' again; then he bolts--disappears."

"Do you want all these people to hear you?" she asked, her eyes hidden
by her slowly moving fan.

Her father had been several times to the refreshment buffet, and had
"lowered"--as he would have put it--the best part of a bottle of
champagne, and was a little off the guard which he usually maintained so
carefully.

"They can't hear. I'm not shouting. And you always evade me. You're not
behaving well, Luce. Dash it all! I've reason to be anxious! This match
means a good deal to me in the present state of our finances!"

"Hush!" she whispered warningly.