whatever was
made to his achievements. We sat him between two pretty and charming
women who chattered amusingly to him with what I, who kept an eye open
and an ear cocked, considered to be a very subtly flattering deference.
Adrian responded with adequate animation. As an ordinary clever,
well-bred man of the world he might have done this almost mechanically;
but I fancied that he found real enjoyment in the light and picturesque
talk of his two neighbours. When the ladies left us, he discussed easy
politics with the Member for our own division of the County. In the
drawing-room, afterwards, he played a rubber at bridge, happened to
hold good cards and smiled an hour away. When the last guest departed,
he yawned, excused himself on the ground of healthy fatigue and went
straight off to bed. Barbara and I congratulated ourselves on the
success of our dinner-party. The next day Adrian went about as glum as a
dinosaur in a museum, and conveyed, even to Susan's childish mind, his
desire for solitude. His hang-dog dismalness so affected my wife, that
she challenged Doria.

"What in the world is the matter with him, to-day?"

Doria drew herself up and flashed a glance at Barbara--they were both
little bantams of women, one dark as wine, the other fair as corn. If
ever these two should come to a fight, thought I who looked on, it would
be to the death.

"Your friends are very charming, my dear, and of course I've nothing to
say against them; but I was under the impression that every educated
person in the English-speaking world knew my husband's name, and I
consider the way he was ignored last night by those people was
disgraceful."

"But, my dear Doria," cried Barbara, aghast, "we thought that Adrian was
having quite a good time."

"You may think so, but he wasn't. Adrian's a gentleman and plays the
game; but you must see it was very galling to him--and to me--to be
treated like any stockbroker--or architect--or idle man about town."

"You are unfortunate in your examples," said I, intervening judicially.
"Pray reflect that there are architects alive whose artistic genius is
not far inferior to Adrian's."

"You know very well what I mean," she snapped.

"No, we don't, dear," said Barbara dangerously. "We think you're a
little idiot and ought to be ashamed of yourself. We took the trouble to
tell every one of those people that Adrian hated any reference to his
work, and like decent folk they didn't refer to it. There