hat afternoon from Charles Richards' begrimed and blood-stained
face? '_Blessed are the poor in spirit_,' he said to himself once with
an inward groan. 'Why am I here? Why am I not at home with Catherine?'

But Madame de Netteville was pleasant to him. He had never seen her so
womanly, never felt more grateful for her delicate social skill. As
she talked to him, or to the Frenchman, of literature, or politics, or
famous folk, flashing her beautiful eyes from one to the other, Sir
John Headlam would, every now and then, turn his odd puckered face
observantly toward the farther end of the table.

'By Jove!' he said afterward to Wharncliffe as they walked away from
the door together, 'she was inimitable to-night; she has more roles than
Desforets!' Sir John and his hostess were very old friends.

Upstairs, smoking began, Lady Aubrey and Madame de Netteville joining
in. M. de Querouelle, having talked the best of his repertoire at
dinner, was now inclined for amusement, and had discovered that Lady
Aubrey could amuse him, and was, moreover, _une belle personne_. Madame
de Netteville, was obliged to give some time to Lord Rupert. The other
men stood chatting politics and the latest news, till Robert, conscious
of a complete failure of social energy, began to took at his watch.
Instantly Madame de Netteville glided up to him.

'Mr. Elsmere, you have talked no business to me, and I must know how
nay affairs in Elgood Street are getting on. Come into my little
writing-room.' And she led him into a tiny panelled room at the far end
of the drawing-room and shut off from it by a heavy curtain, which she
now left half-drawn.

'The latest?' said Fred Wharncliffe to Lady Aubrey, raising his eyebrows
with the slightest motion of the head toward the writing-room.

'I suppose so,' she said indifferently; 'She is East-Ending, for a
change. We all do it nowadays. It is like Dizzy's young man who "liked
bad wine, he was so bored with good."'

Meanwhile, Madame de Netteville was leaning against the open window of
the fantastic little room, with Robert beside her.

'You look as if you had had a strain,' she said to him, abruptly, after
they had talked business for a few minutes. 'What has been the matter?'

He told her Richards' story, very shortly. It would have been impossible
to him to give more than the dryest outline of it in that room. His
companion listened gravely. She was an epicure in all things, especially
in moral sensat