He had become aware during their last turn round the room that his mother was standing in the doorway watching them, this time with Loring in attendance; and with a feverish flash of callous defiance he so guided their movements that they came to a standstill finally close before her. “Congratulate us!” he cried gaily, “we’ve broken the record! And congratulate me individually, for I’ve had the most awfully glorious dance of my life! Hullo, Loring, old man!” “I’ll congratulate you both,” was Mrs. Romayne’s ready answer, as Loring nodded. “You both look as if you had had a good time. Wonderful show, isn’t it? It isn’t possible to say what it must have cost. Something appalling, of course. Maud, dear, have you come across Claudia Eden? Over there, don’t you see? Isn’t it outrageous?” “By Jove!” ejaculated Julian lightly, looking in the direction indicated by a slight movement of his mother’s fan, as Miss Pomeroy uttered an exclamation of pretty amazement. Conspicuous against all the magnificence about her was a girl in a kind of burlesque of an Italian contadina dress of the period, with very short skirts, very low-cut bodice, very exaggerated head-dress. She was talking and laughing with a little crowd of men; her manner was as pronounced and as unrefined as her dress; but there was about her that absolutely unconscious and impenetrable self-possession and self-assurance which stamped her as being by birth that which she was certainly not in appearance--a lady, and a very highly born lady. “She would do anything to make a sensation,” murmured Miss Pomeroy, contemplating her critically. “But have you two seen the gardens?” went on Mrs. Romayne gaily. “No? Then you must simply go instantly. The most marvellous thing I ever saw! Go along at once.” With a laugh Julian turned to Miss Pomeroy. “We must do as we are bidden, of course,” he said. “Will it bore you frightfully?” A smile and the slightest possible shrug of the shoulders constituted Miss Pomeroy’s answer, and they were turning away together, followed by a keen glance from Loring, when the girl in the contadina dress, passing close to them with her somewhat noisy court, intercepted their passing. “‘Evening, Maud,” she said in a loud, good-natured voice, which might have been delicate and high-bred if fashion had not demanded other characteristics. “Hullo, Mr. Romayne! Like my frock, Maud?” Miss Pomeroy murmured something gracefully inaudible, and Mrs. Romayne said, with a smile: “Most original, Lady Claudia.”