was
surprised, but he said nothing, and they sat down.

"I really can't eat supper, Armine," he said. "Don't order it for me."

"Have a little soup, at least, and a glass of champagne?"

Without waiting for a reply, he gave an order.

"We might have sat in the hall, but it is more amusing in here.
Remember, I haven't been in London--seen the London show--for over eight
months. One meets a lot of old friends and acquaintances in places like
this."

Meyer Isaacson opened his lips to say that Armine would be far more
likely to meet his friends during the season if he went to parties in
private houses. America was beginning to stream in, mingled with English
country people "up" for a few days, and floating representatives of the
nations of the earth. In this heterogeneous crowd he saw no one whom he
knew, and Armine had not so far recognized anybody. But he shut his lips
without speaking. He realized that Armine had a purpose in coming to the
Savoy to-night, in bringing him. For some reason his friend was trying
to mask that purpose, but it must almost immediately become apparent. He
had only to wait for a few minutes, and doubtless he would know exactly
what it was.

A waiter brought the soup and the champagne.

"If any of the patients to whom I have strictly forbidden supper should
see me now," said the Doctor, "and if they should divine that I have
come straight from a long dinner!--Armine, I am making a heavy sacrifice
on friendship's altar."

"You don't see any patients, I hope?"

"Not as yet," the Doctor answered.

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, he saw Mrs. Chepstow at
some distance from them, coming in at the door. She came in alone. He
looked to see her escort, but, to his surprise, she was not followed by
any one. Holding herself very erect, and not glancing to the right or
left, she walked down the room escorted by the _maitre d'hotel_, passed
close to Armine and the Doctor, went to a small table set in the angle
of a screen not far off, and sat down with her profile turned towards
them. She said a few words to the _maitre d'hotel_. He spoke to a
waiter, then hurried away. Mrs. Chepstow sat very still in her chair,
looking down. She had laid a lace fan beside the knives and glasses that
shone in the electric light. Her right hand rested lightly on it. She
was dressed in black, and wore white gloves, and a diamond comb in her
fair, dyed hair. Her strange, colourless complexion looked
ex