who was responsible for Miss Latouche's get-up, or if she
really required an extra wrap. At any rate, the combination of colours
was very effective.

Whilst I was speculating vaguely on the probable character of this
striking young lady, she slowly rose from her low seat and crossed the
room. Her eyes were wide open, but apparently fixed on space, and she
moved with the slow, mechanical motion of a sleepwalker. To my intense
surprise she came straight towards me, and stood in an expectant
attitude about a yard from where I was sitting. Not knowing exactly how
to receive this advance, I jumped up and offered her my chair. She waved
it aside with a gesture of imperial scorn. Her dark eyes positively
flashed fire, and a rich glow flushed her pale olive cheek. I could see
that I had deeply offended her.

"I must apologise," I began nervously, "but I thought you might be
tired."

Before the words were fairly spoken, I realised the full imbecility of
this remark. My only excuse for making such a fatuous observation was
that the near vicinity of this weird beauty had paralysed my reasoning
faculties, so that I hardly knew what I was saying. And then she spoke
in a low, rich voice which thrilled me through every nerve. I could not
understand the meaning of her words, or even recognise the language in
which they were spoken. But the tone of her voice was unutterably sad,
like an inarticulate wail of despair. All the time her glorious eyes
were resting on me as if she would read my inmost thoughts, whilst I
responded with an idiotic smile of embarrassment. Even now, after the
lapse of years, it makes me hot all over to think of that moment.

I don't know how long I had been standing looking like a fool, when Miss
Latouche turned away as abruptly as she had approached and walked
straight to the door. With a sigh of relief I sank down on the despised
chair. After a few moments I gained sufficient courage to glance round
and assure myself that no spectators had witnessed my discomfiture. It
was a great relief to find that the entire party had migrated to the
further end of the room, where a funny little man was singing comic
songs with a banjo accompaniment. I slipped in next my host, who was
thoroughly enjoying the performance.

"Encore! Capital! Give us some more of it, Tommy," he roared when the
song came to an end. "That's my sort of music, isn't it yours, Carew?"
he added, turning to me.

"A very clever performance," I a