; she longed
for an opportunity of upsetting his precarious composure, of pricking
his conceit and hurting him. If Margaret Poynter did not put her next to
him, she would walk out of the room and go home. . . .

The butler entered to announce that dinner was served, and Lady Poynter,
with an unconcentrated "Babs, you haven't met Mr. Lane, have you?" tried
to remember her ordering of the table.

"Tell me who 'Babs' is," Eric begged in an undertone, as he and Gaymer
prepared to follow the others down to the dining-room.

"Babs Neave? Don't you know her?" Gaymer asked in surprise.

"Oh, by name, of course. I didn't recognize her."

"She's been rather ill, I think."

As he pulled his napkin out of its folds, Eric stole a glance at
Barbara. By sight he had known her distantly for years as a girl who
hardly missed a first night or private view; she was always to be found
acting, reciting or at least selling programmes at charity _matinees_;
he had seen her at Stage Society performances, and the illustrated
papers gave her a full-page photograph after any of the big costume
balls. And, like most of his generation, he knew her by reputation
better than by sight; for half-a-dozen years her epigrams and escapades
had been on every one's lips; while he was still at Oxford and she a
child of twelve, her cousin Lord Loring had wondered despairingly what
was to be done with her. On the disclosure of her name, Eric had
expected to see some one flamboyant and assertive. He was relieved to
find her quiet and reserved, a little hostile, perhaps bored and
certainly ill.

"I'm so sorry to hear you've not been well," he began timidly. Her
expression and the angle at which she was seated convinced him that he
had left an unfavourable impression on her, and he half feared a rebuff.
"I suppose, like every one else, you've been overworking?"

3

"You'll find me thoroughly dull," Barbara announced abruptly, with the
candour of one who studies her effects and with a brusqueness which
discouraged further advances. "The doctor says--oh, Mrs. O'Rane's trying
to attract your attention."

Eric felt himself dismissed and, submitting to her hint, looked over the
malachite bowls of white roses to the place where Mrs. O'Rane was
leaning forward with one elbow on the table and her other hand
repressing Gaymer. The cast of the "Divorce" was being slightly changed,
and they had thought it worth while to venture a sovereign on the name
of one n