At the very hour that Lyveden walked heavily down the wet lanes on his way to the station, Valerie French, who was to dine early and go to the play, was sitting before her dressing-table in an apricot kimono. The evening sun stared into her bedroom mercilessly and found no fault in it. It was a broad low room, full of soft colours and the warm glow of highly polished wood. Walls, curtains, and carpet were all of powder-blue; an old rose fabric covered what seats there were; an apple-green coverlet filled up the symphony. That taper elegance which modern craftsmanship can give mahogany was most apparent, lending the usual suite unusual comeliness. A great pier-glass flashed in a corner, upon a little table beside a deep chair a bowl of roses sweetened the London air, above the well-found bed dangled an ivory switch. If the chamber was fair, so was my lady. Looking upon her beauty, as she sat at the glass, Valerie French might have felt very proud. But, if we pry into her mind, it will be seen that her thoughts were otherwise occupied. Indeed, the fixing of her hair--usually so simple a matter--was making her knit her brow. The fact that the soft dark tresses had been washed that morning made them unruly. In vain the pointed fingers strove to secure and order them to their mistress's liking.... At length, with a sigh, she brought her hands to her lap. Then she made a mouth at the reflection of her labours. "I look like his Sealyham," she said. * * * * * It was on Monday morning that Lord Pomfret suggested to Lyveden the propriety of putting a pound each way on Slip Along. "I don't suppose the swine's any good," said his lordship moodily. "But he'll probably start at twenty, so I may as well have a dart. I forget who told me about him." "Very good, my lord," said Anthony. To receive this commission, he had been summoned from the drawing-room, whose floor he was engaged in leathering to the requisite degree of lustre. He had had to remove an apron, turn down his sleeves, and put on his plum-coloured coat. So soon as his lordship, who was yet at breakfast, released him, he would reverse the procedure and return to his floor. Lord Pomfret peered muttering into his cigarette case. Then he plucked out a ten-shilling note and flicked it across the tablecloth. "That's all I appear to have," he said sulkily. "I'll have to owe you the thirty shillings." Anthony braced himself. "I'm afraid I haven't any money at all, my lord." The other looked up sharply. "What? ... Oh, nonsense, Lyveden." Anthony said nothing. He was not anxious to repeat the lie, but he was determined not to lend to Lord Pomfret. That the loan would lose itself was much too probable, and the construction of his slender resources would not stand such a strain. "Of course you've got thirty shillings. But you don't like parting." Lord Pomfret laughed rather nastily. "I'll pay you back, man, if that's your trouble."