Finish Bertie's fruit salad. Good gracious,
you are drinking whiskey and soda. Pass me his glass, it won't matter
for me."

Eleanor hands it over with trembling fingers.

Philip is well in the room now, and any moment may see them.

"Would it not look well to attract his attention; sign to him. He is
bound to spot you in a minute. Here is the waiter, we will send him.
Waiter! go and ask that tall gentleman to come here. Say two ladies
wish to speak to him."

Mr. Roche advances in surprise. He is vastly annoyed to find his wife
again in company with Mrs. Mounteagle.

"You did not expect to see me, Philip," she says, assuming an air of
gaiety to cover her confusion.

"I discovered your wife at our mutual costumier's in Bond Street,"
cries Giddy. "I know she always starves herself when shopping alone in
town, so persuaded her to make a good lunch with me. I have known her
to exist a whole day on prawns and ices, or Bath buns with lemonade.
So you owe me a debt of gratitude, Mr. Roche. We are lucky in having
ran across you, and two other friends," as Philip's eyes fall on Carol
Quinton and the insipid Bertie. "We are simply gobbling our food
whole, as we are going to the International Fur Store. I want to try
and get a muff of leopard's skin to match my cape, for which, alas! I
have still to write a cheque. But we are keeping you standing, and Mr.
Eccott is waiting for his guest."

"Don't be late home, Eleanor," he says, "it gets very cold and foggy,
and you still have a cough."

The two women watch him move away, then their eyes meet.

"You are a brick, Giddy," gasps Mrs. Roche, squeezing her hand under
the table. "What makes you so splendidly loyal to me?"

"Life is so short, dear, it is well to be kind when we can. Besides, I
am very fond of you though we did quarrel. I think it will draw us
closer together."

"I shall never forget what you have done for me to-day."

As the four friends leave the restaurant Carol Quinton bends over
Giddy, and says sincerely:

"Bravo! and thanks a thousand times. You acted to perfection."

"Glad you think so," she replies in an undertone; "and, my friend,
_you_ can go to the fur store now, and settle my little account."

She pointed to her cloak as she spoke, and added saucily:

"The muff can stand over until the next time."

* * * * *

"So you have made it up with the Mounteagle woman," says Philip that
evening, pulling fi