t in Paris and London not so very many years ago. You
perhaps remember the cardinal's dinner?"

A slight smile flickered upon her lips. The man's adroitness always
excited her admiration.

"I remember it perfectly, and you, Duke," she answered. "Have you made
your home on this side of the water?"

Mr. Sabin shook his head slowly.

"Home!" he repeated. "Ah, I was always a bird of passage, you remember.
Yet I have spent three very delightful years in this country."

"And I," she said, lowering her tone and leaning towards him, "one very
stupid, idiotic day."

Mr. Sabin assumed the look of a man who denies any personal
responsibility in an unfortunate happening.

"It was regrettable," he murmured, "but I assure you that it was
unavoidable. Lucille's brother must have a certain claim upon me, and it
was his first day in America."

She was silent for a moment. Then she turned abruptly towards the door.
Her friends were already on the way.

"Come with me," she said. "I want to speak to you."

He followed her out into the lobby. Felix came a few paces behind. The
restaurant was still full of people, the hum of conversation almost
drowning the music. Every one glanced curiously at Lady Carey, who was a
famous woman. She carried herself with a certain insolent indifference,
the national deportment of her sex and rank. The women whispered
together that she was "very English."

In the lobby she turned suddenly upon Mr. Sabin.

"Will you take me back to my hotel?" she asked pointedly.

"I regret that I cannot," he answered. "I have promised to show Felix
some of the wonders of New York by night."

"You can take him to-morrow."

"To-morrow," Mr. Sabin said, "he leaves for the West."

She looked closely into his impassive face.

"I suppose that you are lying," she said shortly.

"Your candour," he answered coldly, "sometimes approaches brutality."

She leaned towards him, her face suddenly softened.

"We are playing a foolish game with one another," she murmured. "I offer
you an alliance, my friendship, perhaps my help."

"What can I do," he answered gravely, "save be grateful--and accept?"

"Then--"

She stopped short. It was Mr. Sabin's luck which had intervened. Herbert
Daikeith stood at her elbow.

"Lady Carey," he said, "they're all gone but the mater and I. Forgive my
interrupting you," he added hastily.

"You can go on, Herbert," she added. "The Duc de Souspennier will bring
me."

Mr. Sabin, w