servile in his manner, an anxiety which was
quite foreign to it as a rule.

"That's a stunnin' dress," he added. "Keep your cloak well over it."

She said nothing.

"What's the row?" he asked. "Anythin' up?"

"I'm thinking over my songs."

"Oh, I see."

She had silenced him for the moment.

Very soon they were in a long line of carriages and motors moving slowly
towards Manchester House.

"Goin' to be a deuce of a crowd," said Fritz.

"Naturally."

"Wonder who'll be there?"

"Everybody who's still in town."

She bowed to a man in a hansom.

"Who's that?"

"Plancon. He's singing."

"How long'll it be before you come on?"

"Quite an hour, I think."

"Better than bein' first, isn't it?"

"Of course."

"What are you goin' to sing?"

"Oh--"

She was about to say something impatient about his not knowing one tune
from another, but she checked herself, and answered quietly:

"An Italian song and a French song."

"What about?"

"Take care of that carriage in front--love."

He looked at her sideways.

"You're the one to sing about that," he said.

She felt that he was admiring her beauty as if it were new to him. She
did not care.

At last they reached Manchester House. Fritz's place was taken by
his chauffeur, and they got out. The crowd was enormous. Many people
recognised Lady Holme and greeted her. Others, who did not know her
personally, looked at her with open curiosity. A powdered footman came
to show her to the improvised artists' room. Fritz prepared to follow.

"Aren't you going into the concert-room?" she said.

"Presently."

"But--"

"I'll take you up first."

"Very well," she said. "But it isn't the least necessary."

He only stuck out his under jaw. She realised that Miss Schley would
be in the artists' room and said nothing more. They made their way very
slowly to the great landing on the first floor of the house, from which
a maze of reception rooms opened. Mr. and Mrs. Ongrin, the immensely
rich Australians who were the owners of the house, were standing there
ready to receive the two Royal Princesses who were expected, and Mr.
Ongrin took from a basket on a table beside him a great bouquet of
honey-coloured roses, and offered it to Lady Holme with a hearty word of
thanks to her for singing.

She took the roses with a look of pleasure.

"How sweet of you! They suit my song," she said.

She was thinking of the Italian song.

Mr. Ongrin, who was a large, loose