"Isn't she rather _mauvaise langue_?" he asked.

"Mrs. Derringham? I certainly don't think her so."

"She's one of the disbelievers in women you spoke of after dinner; one
of the traitresses in the woman's camp. Why can't women hang together?"

"They do sometimes."

"Yes, when there's a woman to be hounded down. They hang together when
there's a work of destruction on hand. But do they hang together when
there's a work of construction to be done?"

"Do you mean a reputation to be built up?"

Armine pulled his moustache. In the electric light Meyer Isaacson could
see that his blue eyes were shining.

"Because," Meyer Isaacson continued, "if you do mean that, I should be
inclined to say that each of us must build up his or her reputation
individually for himself or herself."

"We need help in nearly all our buildings-up, and how often, how
damnably often, we don't get it!"

"Was Mrs. Derringham specially down upon some particular woman
to-night?"

"Yes, she was."

"Do you care to tell me upon whom?"

"It was Mrs. Chepstow."

"You were talking about Mrs. Chepstow?" Isaacson said slowly. "The
famous Mrs. Chepstow?"

"Famous!" said Armine. "I hardly see that Mrs. Chepstow is a famous
woman. She is not a writer, a singer, a painter, an actress. She does
nothing that I ever heard of. I shouldn't call such a woman famous. I
daresay her name is known to lots of people. But this is the age of
chatterboxes, and of course--"

At this moment the brougham rolled on to the rubber pavement in front of
the Savoy Hotel and stopped before the entrance.

As he was getting out and going into the hall, Meyer Isaacson remembered
that the letter Mrs. Chepstow had written to him asking for an
appointment had been stamped "Savoy Hotel." She had been staying at the
hotel then. Was she staying there now? He had never heard Armine mention
her before, but his feminine intuition suddenly connected Armine's
words, "I'm very happy at the Savoy," with the invitation to sup there,
and the conversation about Mrs. Chepstow just reported to him by his
friend. Armine knew Mrs. Chepstow. They were going to meet her in the
restaurant to-night. Meyer Isaacson felt sure of it.

They left their coats in the cloak-room and made their way to the
restaurant, which as yet was almost empty. The _maitre d'hotel_ came
forward to Armine, bowing and smiling, and showed them to a table in a
corner. Meyer Isaacson saw that it was laid for only two. He