ies of a different sort of crime."

"My cousin hadn't an enemy in the world except himself," Philip
intervened.

"And I would give you the filming of my next play for nothing," Elizabeth
ventured, "if either of those two men could possibly have been an art
teacher.... Can I have a little more oil with my salad, please, steward,
and I should like some French white wine."

Mr. Raymond Greene took what appeared to be a positive disappointment
very good-naturedly.

"Well," he said, "I dare say you are both right, and in any case I
shouldn't like to persist in a point of view which might naturally enough
become distressing to our young friend here. Tell you what I'll do to
show my penitence. I shall order a bottle of wine, and we'll drink to the
welfare of the missing Mr. Philip Romilly, wherever he may be. Pommery,
steward, and bring some ice along."

Philip pushed away his whisky and soda.

"Just in time," he remarked. "I'll drink to poor Philip's welfare, with
pleasure, although he hasn't been an unmixed blessing to his family."

The subject passed away with the drinking of the toast, and with the
necessity for a guard upon himself gone, Philip found himself eating and
drinking mechanically, watching all the time the woman who sat opposite
to him, who had now engaged Mr. Raymond Greene in an animated
conversation on the subject of the suitability for filming of certain
recent plays. He was trying with a curious intentness to study her
dispassionately, to understand the nature of the charm on which dramatic
critics had wasted a wealth of adjectives, and of which he himself was
humanly and personally conscious. She wore a high-necked gown of some
soft, black material, with a little lace at her throat fastened by her
only article of jewellery, a pearl pin. Her hair was arranged in coils,
with a simplicity and a precision which to a more experienced observer
would have indicated the possession of a maid of no ordinary qualities.
Her mouth became more and more delightful every time he studied it; her
voice, even her method of speech, were entirely natural and with a
peculiarly fascinating inflexion. At times she looked and spoke with the
light-hearted gaiety of a child; then again there was the grave and
cultured woman apparent in her well-balanced and thoughtful criticisms.
When, at the end of the meal, she rose to leave the table, he found
himself surprised at her height and the slim perfection of her figure.
His fir