"You never saw anything like the lives those ragpickers lead, Dora," observed Lady Deane, looking up from her task. "I was talking to one this morning and he said----" "Maitre d'hotel for me," broke in Sir Roger. "I haven't a notion," murmured Charlie. "Look here, what's your liquor, Laing?" "Anything; with this thirst on me----" "There are ample materials for a revolution more astonishing and sanguinary----" "Nonsense, General, yon must have something to drink." "Can they have changed their minds again, Dolly?" "They must have, if Mr. Laing is----" "Dry? I should think I was. So would you be, if you'd been playing tennis." Laing cut across the currents of conversation: "Hope no harm done, Miss Bellairs, about that wire?" "I--I--I don't think so." "Or yours, Charlie?" Charlie took a hopeful view. "Upon my honor, Laing, I'm glad you hid it." "Oh, I see!" cried Laing. "Tip for the wrong 'un, eh, and too late to put it on now?" "You're not far off," answered Charlie Ellerton. "Roger, is it to-night that the General is going to take me to the----" "Hush! Not before Miss Bellairs, my dear! Consider her filial feelings. You and the General must make a quiet bolt of it. We're only going to the Palais-Royal." The arrival of fish brought a momentary pause, but the first mouthful was hardly swallowed when Arthur Laing started, hunted hastily for his eyeglass, and stuck it in his eye. "Yes, it is them," said he. "See, Charlie, that table over there. They've got their backs to us, but lean see 'em in the mirror." "See who?" asked Charlie in an irritable tone. "Why, those honeymooners. I say, Lady Deane, it's a queer thing to have a lady's-maid to breakf--Why, by Jove, she's with them now! Look!" His excited interest aroused the attention of the whole party, and they looked across the long room. "Ashforth's their name," concluded Laing. "I heard the Abigail call him Ashforth; and the lady is----" He was interrupted by the clatter of a knife and fork falling on a plate. He turned in the direction whence the sound came. Dora Bellairs leant back in her chair, her hands in her lap; Charlie Ellerton had hidden himself behind the wine-list. Lady Deane, her husband, and the General gazed inquiringly at Dora. At the same instant there came a shrill little cry from the other end of the room. The mirror had served Mary Travers as well as it had Laing. For a moment she spoke hastily to her companion; then she and John rose, and, with radiant smiles on their faces, advanced toward their friends. The long-expected meeting had come; at last. Dora sat still, in consternation. Charlie, peeping out from behind his menu, saw the approach. "Now, in Heaven's name," he groaned, "are they married or aren't they?" and having said this he awaited the worst. CHAPTER X MR. AND NOT MRS. ASHFORTH