A restless gleam had come into Mrs. Romayne’s eyes at the momentary pause, but there was a certain satisfaction, too, in her smile as the two girls stood face to face. Maud Pomeroy certainly never appeared to greater advantage than in contrast with a pronounced type of the modern society girl. The juxtaposition seemed to bring into strong relief everything about her appearance and demeanour which was dainty, gentle, and sweet, and to throw into shade all her more negative charm. Her voice, now, perfectly modulated and absolutely even, made the other girl seem “quite too vulgar,” as Mrs. Romayne said to herself. She echoed Mrs. Romayne’s words, and added: “How came you to think of it?” “I thought it would score,” returned the other, with a laugh. “I can’t stand these people, don’t you know! I thought of getting a whole lot of us to do it; it would have been no end of a joke! Then I thought that I’d keep it to myself. Ta-ta!” And with a rough, ungraceful gesture of farewell she passed on. “Lady Claudia’s hostess would strangle her, cheerfully, with her own hands,” remarked Loring placidly. Mrs. Romayne laughed. “So would a great many other people,” she said. “But come, you two be off and see these gardens.” Julian and Miss Pomeroy moved away as if with one consent, and Mrs. Romayne watched them as they went with such a strange intentness in her face, that she looked for the moment as though her consciousness were actually leaving her to follow the two on whom her eyes were fixed. The idea of the whole entertainment had originated, so people said, in the fact that its giver had spent enormous sums of money in the course of the past three years on the transformation of his grounds into an Italian garden, and the scene from the terrace, as Julian and Miss Pomeroy stepped out on to it, was indeed extraordinarily effective. There was no moon, and thousands of coloured lamps, skilfully disposed, shed a picturesque, uncertain light, under which the long ilex-shaded alleys, the box hedges, the fountains, and the statues produced an illusion which was almost perfect. “By Jove!” exclaimed Julian in the same strained, excited voice. “Capital, isn’t it? It must be almost worth while to live away here in the wilds of Fulham to have a place capable of being turned into a show like this. Don’t you think so?” Miss Pomeroy did not answer immediately. Apparently, the excitement created by their dance had rather strengthened than diminished during the interval, and she was playing almost nervously with her fan. Miss Pomeroy was not a nervous person as a rule. “I don’t know,” she said vaguely. “Yes, it’s very pretty, isn’t it? But I don’t think I should much care to have a big place, do you know. I don’t think places make much difference.” Her voice was low, and very prettily modulated, and Julian threw a quick sideways glance at her. Except for a flush, and a certain look in her eyes which he could not see, her face was as demure and placid as ever.