glishman of insipid appearance is seated opposite, enjoying
the mild pleasure of an ice _a la panache_. He puts up his eyeglass
and stares at Eleanor. She returns the look frankly, taking in his
narrow forehead, ginger hair, and elongated neck.

"Newly married," thinks the man, noting the fresh lustre of her
jewellery.

"English," mentally ejaculates Eleanor, eyeing his scrupulously clean
linen.

"A woman to be loved and hated in the same breath," so runs his
masculine meditation. "Tantalising open eyes, without a blush in them,
and a face like the bust of Clytie."

"What is engrossing your attention, dearest?" whispers Philip, seeing
her pre-occupied.

"I am wondering if that young man's mother ever thought him handsome.
The nose might have been promising once, before the last half inch
grew, and his hair was gold when she first cut his ringlets."

Philip looks at the stranger's dissipated eyes, and despite the
apparent innocence which the hallowing presence of a guileless
ice-cream will temporarily shed over Lothario himself, sees the general
demoralisation that has set in.

"He is young to be blunted and coarsened," thinks Philip. Annoyed by
the impudent stare which possibly amuses rather than displeases his
wife, he tells Eleanor she has had enough, and rises to signify
departure. Lothario is still covering Clytie with his gaze. She
pauses to caress a lean black cat with hungry eyes, that has crept in
unobserved from the street. Hurriedly emptying a jug of cream in her
saucer, Eleanor is about to present it to the plaintiff stranger. Tom,
however, scents the cream, springs on his hind legs, and upsets the
liquid over her Parisian skirt.

The insipid young man starts forward, for Philip is paying at the
counter, and kneels at her feet to repair the damage with his
handkerchief.

Mrs. Roche stands watching helplessly, her lips curving into smiles.

"You are very kind," she murmurs, as his eyeglass falls amongst her
chiffons. "The cat was hungry, and now he won't get anything. Philip
will not stay and----"

She breaks off shortly, for her husband has turned and discovered the
youth on his knees before Eleanor, who, as he rises, slips his card
into her hand.

"I will see the cat is fed," he whispers.

She gives him a grateful glance, and explaining the incident to Philip,
hurries away, with the stranger's card hidden in her pale kid glove.

When she is back in the hotel, Eleanor looks at the