Armorel disliked his manner, and for some reason or other distrusted his face. He left off laying down the law on music, and began to talk about things personal. 'I hope you like your new companion,' he said. 'She is an old friend of mine. I was in hopes of being able to advance her husband in his profession. But he died before I got the chance. Mr. Jagenal told me what was wanted, and I was happy in recommending Zoe--Mrs. Elstree.' 'Thank you,' said Armorel, coldly. 'I dare say we shall get to like each other in time.' 'If so, I shall rejoice in having been of some service to you as well as to her. What is her day at home?' 'I believe we are to be at home on Wednesdays.' 'As for me,' he said lightly, 'I am always at home in my studio. I am a triple slave--Miss Rosevean--as you may have heard. I am a slave of the brush, the pen, and the wastepaper-basket. If you will come with Mrs. Elstree to my studio I can show you one or two things that you might like to see.' 'Thank you,' she replied, without apparent interest in his studio. The young man was not accustomed to girls who showed no interest in him, and retired, chilled. Presently she heard his voice again. This time he was talking with Philippa. They were talking low in the doorway beside her, but she could not choose but hear. 'You recommended her--you?' said Philippa. 'Why not?' 'Do you know how--where--she has been living for the last seven years?' 'Certainly. She married an American. He died a year ago, leaving her rather badly off. Is there any reason, Philippa, why I should not recommend her? If there is I will speak to Mr. Jagenal.' 'No--no--no. There is no reason that I know of. Somebody told me she had gone on the stage. Who was it?' 'Gone on the stage? No--no: she was married to this American.' 'You have never spoken to me about her.' 'Reason enough, fair cousin. You do not like her.' 'And--you--do,' she replied slowly. 'I like all pretty women, Philippa. I respect one only.' Then other people came and were introduced to Armorel. One does not leave in cold neglect a girl who is so beautiful and plays so wonderfully. None of them interested Armorel very much. At the beginning, when a girl first goes into society, she expects to be interested and excited at a general gathering. This expectation disappears, and the current coin of everybody's talk takes the place of interest. Suddenly she caught a face which she knew. When a girl has been travelling about for five years she sees a great many faces. This was a face which she remembered perfectly well, yet could not at first place it in any scene or assign it to any date. Then she recollected. And she walked boldly across the room and stood before the owner of that face. 'You have forgotten me,' she said abruptly. 'I--I--can I ever have known you?' he asked. 'Will you shake hands, Mr. Stephenson? You were Dick Stephenson five years ago. Have you forgotten Armorel, of Samson Island in Scilly?'