“A woman’s particular reason is a man’s feeble excuse,” murmured Sir Lucien rudely. “At least, according to a learned Arabian philosopher.” “I was going to meet you at Prince’s,” said Mrs. Irvin hurriedly, and again glancing at Gray. There was a pathetic hesitancy in her manner, the hesitancy of a weak woman who adheres to a purpose only by supreme effort. “Might I ask,” said Gray, “the name of the pervert you are going to consult?” Again she hesitated and glanced rapidly at Sir Lucien, but he was staring coolly in another direction. “Kazmah,” she replied in a low voice. “Kazmah!” cried Gray. “The man who sells perfume and pretends to read dreams? What an extraordinary notion. Wouldn’t tomorrow do? He will surely have shut up shop!” “I have been at pains to ascertain,” replied Sir Lucien, “at Mrs. Irvin’s express desire, that the man of mystery is still in session and will receive her.” Beneath the mask of nonchalance which he wore it might have been possible to detect excitement repressed with difficulty; and had Gray been more composed and not obsessed with the idea that Sir Lucien had deliberately intruded upon his plans for the evening, he could not have failed to perceive that Mrs. Monte Irvin was feverishly preoccupied with matters having no relation to dinner and the theatre. But his private suspicions grew only the more acute. “Then if the dinner is not off,” he said, “may I come along and wait for you?” “At Kazmah’s?” asked Mrs. Irvin. “Certainly.” She turned to Sir Lucien. “Shall you wait? It isn’t much use as I’m dining with Quentin.” “If I do not intrude,” replied the baronet, “I will accompany you as far as the cave of the oracle, and then bid you good night.” The trio proceeded along old Bond Street. Quentin Gray regarded the story of Kazmah as a very poor lie devised on the spur of the moment. If he had been less infatuated, his natural sense of dignity must have dictated an offer to release Mrs. Irvin from her engagement. But jealousy stimulates the worst instincts and destroys the best. He was determined to attach himself as closely as the old Man of the Sea attached himself to Es-Sindibad, in order that the lie might be unmasked. Mrs. Irvin’s palpable embarrassment and nervousness he ascribed to her perception of his design. A group of shop girls and others waiting for buses rendered it impossible for the three to keep abreast, and Gray, falling to the rear, stepped upon the foot of a little man who was walking close behind them. “Sorry, sir,” said the man, suppressing an exclamation of pain—for the fault had been Gray’s. Gray muttered an ungenerous acknowledgment, all anxiety to regain the side of Mrs. Irvin; for she seemed to be speaking rapidly and excitedly to Sir Lucien. He recovered his place as the two turned in at a lighted doorway. Upon the wall was a bronze plate bearing the inscription: KAZMAH Second Floor