Clarice Glanton had been reckoned the chief beauty of Madras during the last season. She had undeniably well-cut features and a graceful carriage, but though no older than the young wife, she lacked that indefinable air of youth which made Hester's chief charm. There was certainly no symptom of the "close friendship" between the two, and the girl's thin lips curled with a faint cynical smile as she heard her mother's remark. It had been her intention to pass on, being on the outlook for a guest who had not yet appeared, but now she felt it incumbent upon her to exchange a few words. "I'm afraid you'll feel dreadfully bored, Mrs. Rayner," she said in her staccato voice. "The seats are full, the sets for Badminton, archery, and croquet made up for the moment. But there will be some movement soon. You are devoted to croquet, I recollect," she added, turning to Mr. Rayner; then her attention was attracted by a tall young man advancing along the crimson strip. "Ah, this must be the gentleman my father met fresh from the steamer this morning and invited to join our party, charging me to entertain him too," remarked Clarice, her sharp eyes scanning the coming handsome figure with its easy grace. "Oh, Alfred, here he is,--here is Mark Cheveril," exclaimed Hester eagerly. "Then you know him, Mrs. Rayner? Cheveril, yes, that is his name. Wherever has my mother disappeared to? I suppose I must act as hostess." With a more gracious smile than she had previously bestowed on Hester, she went forward to meet the guest. After a brief interchange of polite words, on Miss Glanton's side marked by studied graciousness, Mark turned to greet again his old friend with a bright smile; while, with an air of nonchalance which surprised his wife, Alfred Rayner came forward to introduce himself, reminding Mark that they were old school acquaintances. "In the dear old Hacket days, of course! How could I have forgotten that it was then your name was familiar to me! I remember your face perfectly. You are very little changed except that you were then in 'jackets.'" "And you in Etons. I certainly shouldn't have recognised you, Cheveril, though I do remember some--of your talk." "Too well," he was going to add, but bit his lip and glanced at his wife. "I expect I talked a good deal of nonsense," responded Mark with a laugh, secretly wondering what of his childish prattle still lingered in the mind of this sharp-looking man with his impassive face, who was saying now with rather a patronising smile: "Well, I suppose we all live and learn." Then he added, with a neat bow: "Glad to hear you are to be our guest at Clive's Road to-night. We shall have an opportunity of talking over things new and old." Miss Glanton, in her rôle of brevet-hostess, did not mean to permit more talk between two male guests, especially as she was desirous of monopolising one of them.