he took to it late, as they all do in America.
So he has come across, has he? Yes, the storm-birds are congregating, my
silent friend. There is something in the wind."

Deulin raised his long, thin nose into the dusty May air and sniffed it.

"Was that girl with them?" he inquired presently--"Miss Netty Cahere?"

"Yes."

"I always make love to Miss Cahere--she likes it best."

Cartoner stared straight in front of him, and made no comment. The
Frenchman gave a laugh, which was not entirely pleasant. It was rare
that his laugh was harsh, but such a note rang in it now. They did not
speak again until they had walked some distance northward of Piccadilly,
and stopped before a house with white window-boxes. Several carriages
stood at the other side of the road against the square railings.

"Is it her day?" inquired Deulin.

"Yes."

Deulin made a grimace expressive of annoyance.

"And we shall see a number of people we had better not see. But, since
we are here, let us go in--with a smile on the countenance, eh? my brave
Cartoner."

"And a lie on the tongue."

"There I will meet you, too," replied Deulin, looking into his
card-case.

They entered the house, and, as Deulin had predicted, there found a
number of people assembled, who noted, no doubt, that they had come
together. It was observable that this was not a congregation of
fashionable or artistic people; for the women were dressed quietly, and
the men were mostly old and white-haired. It was also dimly perceptible
that there was a larger proportion of brain in the room than is allotted
to the merely fashionable, or to that shallow mixture of the dramatic
and pictorial, which is usually designated the artistic world. Moreover,
scraps of conversation reached the ear that led the hearer to conclude
that the house was in its way a miniature Babel.

The two men separated on the threshold, and Deulin went forward to shake
hands with a tall, white-haired woman, who was the centre of a vivacious
group. Over the heads of her guests this lady had already perceived
Cartoner, who was making his way more slowly through the crowd. He
seemed to have more friends there than Deulin. Lady Orlay at length
went to meet Cartoner, and as they shook hands, one of those slight and
indefinable family resemblances which start up at odd moments became
visible.

"I want you particularly to-morrow night," said the lady; "I have some
people coming. I will send a card to your club