the trained hand and to the practised eyes, these things can not
only be done with dexterity, they can be done with ease and with style.
There are many who imagine that the days of romance are over because
gentlemen do no longer saunter through the salons of the rich with
pointed rapiers tapping at their heels. But romance did not go out
with the duel. The duel itself has never gone out. Words,
looks--these are the weapons of romance now. They are sheathed in
their scabbards of velvet politesse, but just as easy of drawing,
just as light to flash out and tingle in the air as ever were the
dainty little Toledo blades of some odd two hundred years ago.

"Jack," said Mrs. Durlacher, "you've introduced me to a diplomatist.
She says what she means without telling you what she says."

Traill thought that it all alluded to the portrait of James
Brownrigg--imagined that Sally agreed with him, yet did not like to
contradict his sister, and he laughed with amusement at the smartness
of her retort. But Sally returned to her seat, conscious that she
had made an enemy. She could think of no reply that had not a lash
of bitterness in it and, clinging to the dignity of silence, rather
than the vigour of attack, she said nothing.

When Traill had handed her her coffee, his sister moved slowly across
the room to the settle where her fur coat, scarf and gloves were
lying.

"You're not going?" he asked, looking up.

"Yes, I must, my dear boy. It's getting on for ten. Harold's got some
people coming in after the theatre, and I believe we've got a supper.
Do you think you could get me a taxi?"

"There's not a stand here. But you can get any amount of hansoms."

"Yes, but I want to get home. You're sure to find heaps of empty ones
in Piccadilly Circus just at this time. Run and see--do. I'll be
putting on my coat."

Traill went--obedient. They heard him taking the stairs two at a time
in the darkness. Then the door slammed.

"One of these days he'll break his neck down those stairs," said Mrs.
Durlacher. "Do you live in Town, Miss Bishop?"

She ran one sentence into the other inconsequently, as if they had
connection.

"Well--not exactly," said Sally. "I live in Kew."

"Oh yes--Kew--it's a very pretty place. There are some delightful
old houses on the Green--the gardens side--I believe they're King's
property, aren't they?"

"I know the ones you mean," said Sally; "they are very nice, but I
don't live there." She added that