was at all isolated. She was bending over
her cups and saucers, supplying now one and now another, listening to a
chance remark here and there, giving an abstracted smile to the person
who might chance to be next to her. What was she thinking of? Not of
Jock, who had only got a smile a little more animated than the others.
Mr. Derwentwater did not know anybody in this company. He stood on the
outskirts of it, with that look of mingled conciliation and defiance
which is natural to a man who feels himself overlooked. He was more
disappointed even than Jock, for he had anticipated a great deal of
attention, and not to find himself nobody in a fashionable crowd.

Things did not mend even at dinner. Then the people were more easily
identified in their evening clothes, exposing themselves steadily to all
observers on either side of the table; but they did not seem more
interesting. There were two or three political men, friends of Sir Tom,
and some of a very different type who were attached to the
Contessa--indeed, the party consisted chiefly of men, with a few ladies
thrown in. The ladies were not much more attractive. One of them, a Lady
Anastasia something, was one of the most inveterate of gossip
collectors, a lady who not only provided piquant tales for home
consumption, but served them up to the general public afterwards in a
newspaper--the only representatives of ordinary womankind being a mother
and two daughters, who had no particular qualities, and who duly
occupied a certain amount of space, without giving anything in return.
But Bice was not visible. She who had been so little noticed, yet so far
from insignificant, where was she? Could it be that the Contessa had
left her behind, or that Lucy had objected to her, or that she was ill,
or that--Jock did not know what to think. The company was a strange one.
Those sedate, political friends of Sir Tom found themselves with a
little dismay in the society of the lady who wrote for what she called
the Press, and the gentlemen from the clubs. One of the guests was the
young Marquis Montjoie, who had quite lately come into his title and the
world. He had been at school with Jock a few years before, and he
recognised Mr. Derwentwater with a curious mixture of awe and contempt.
"Hallo!" he had cried when he perceived him first, and he had whispered
something to the Contessa which made her laugh also. All this Jock
remarked vaguely in his uneasiness and disappointment. What w