Mr. James was to arrive at half-past nine. I was waiting for him near the entrance door. He was punctual to time; and looked very well in his evening dress. I took him up to Miss Deveen, and she made room for him on the sofa by her side, her diamonds glistening. He must have seen their value. Sir John had his rubber then in the little breakfast-parlour: Miss Cattledon, old Starr, and another making it up for him. Wanting to see the game played out, I kept by the sofa. This was not the dancing-room: but they came into it in couples between the dances, to march round in the cooler air. Mr. James looked and Miss Deveen looked; and I confess that whenever Mrs. Hughes passed us, I felt queer. Miss Deveen suddenly arrested her and kept her talking for a minute or two. Not a word bearing upon the subject said Mr. James. Once, when the room was clear and the measured tread to one of Strauss's best waltzes could be heard, Lady Whitney approached. Catching sight of the stranger by Miss Deveen, she supposed he had been brought by some of the guests, and came up to make his acquaintance. "A friend of mine, dear Lady Whitney," said Miss Deveen. Lady Whitney, never observing that no name was mentioned, shook hands at once with Mr. James in her homely country fashion. He stood up until she had moved away. "Well?" said Miss Deveen, when the dancers had come in again. "Is the lady here?" "Yes." I had expected him to say No, and could have struck him for destroying my faith in Mrs. Hughes. She was passing at the moment. "Do you see her now?" whispered Miss Deveen. "Not now. She was at the door a moment ago." "Not now!" exclaimed Miss Deveen, staring at Mrs. Hughes. "Is it not _that_ lady?" Mr. James sent his eyes in half-a-dozen directions. "Which lady, ma'am?" "The one who has just passed in black silk, with the simple white net quilling round the neck." "Oh dear, no!" said Mr. James. "I never saw that lady in my life before. The lady, _the_ lady, is dressed in white." Miss Deveen looked at him, and I looked. _Here_, in the rooms, and yet not Mrs. Hughes! "This is the one," he whispered, "coming in now." The one, turning in at that particular instant, was Sophie Chalk. But others were before her and behind her. She was on Harry Whitney's arm. "Why don't you dance, Miss Deveen?" asked bold Harry, halting before the sofa. "Will you dance with me, Master Harry?" "Of course I will. Glad to get you." "Don't tell fibs, young man. I might take you at your word, if I had my dancing-shoes on." Harry laughed. Sophie Chalk's blue eyes happened to rest on Mr. James's face: they took a puzzled expression, as if wondering where she had seen it. Mr. James rose and bowed to her. She must have recognized him then, for her features turned livid, in spite of the powder upon them. "Who is it, Johnny?" she whispered, in her confusion, loosing Harry's arm and coming behind.