nate charm of breeding. The Pellissiers had been an old family in
Hampshire, while his grandfather had driven a van.

As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. He
pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her
aunt's--she had told him that it was shabby--and he recalled that
delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile
which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. She was
poor. He was heartily thankful for it. He thought of his wealth for
once from a different point of view. How much he would be able to do
for her. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the "open sesame" to the
whole world of pleasure. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in
traditions of the City and money-making, very ill-skilled in all the
lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her
invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical
powers of an unlimited banking account. She should be lifted out of
her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. And
afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards
where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green
of the lime-trees. His lips parted in a rare smile. Afterwards was the
most delightful part of all!...

If only there had not been this single torturing thought--a mere
pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Suddenly he stopped short.
He was in front of one of the more imposing of the _cafes
chantants_--opposite, illuminated with a whole row of lights, was the
wonderful poster which had helped to make "Alcide" famous. He had
looked at it before without comprehension. To-night the subtle
suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very
simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes--the inner
meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. He
stood still, almost breathless. A slow anger burned in the man. It was
debauching, this--a devilish art which drew such strange allurements
from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity.
Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of
loiterers about the entrance. A woman touched him lightly on the arm,
and smiled into his face.

"Monsieur admires the poster?"

As a rule Sir John treated such advances with cold silence. This
woman, contrary to his custom, he answered.

"It is hateful--diabolical!" he exclaimed.

The