It was not a very large apartment, but it was full. The table was covered with a thin native tablecloth, two large lamps with punkah tops, and two cruet-stands and an American ice-pitcher were placed at formal intervals down the middle. It was surrounded with people, who were eating, drinking, and talking. At the further end sat Captain Waring, supported on either hand by his two fair companions, three men--young and noisy, whom they evidently knew--and a prim, elderly woman, who looked inexpressibly shocked at the company, and had pointedly fenced herself off from Mrs. Bellett with a teapot and a wine-card. Captain Waring’s friends had not partaken of tea (as the champagne-bottle testified). The tongue, cake, and fruit had also evidently received distinguished marks of their esteem. Mrs. Bellett put up her long eyeglass, and surveyed exhaustively the pair who now entered. “Hullo, Mark! What ages you have been!” exclaimed his cousin. “We can make room at this corner--come along, old man.” Mark and his companion found themselves posted at the two corners at the end of the table, and were for the moment the cynosure of all eyes. In a few seconds, as soon as the newcomers had been looked after and given the scraps, the party continued their interrupted conversation with redoubled animation. They all appeared to know one another intimately. Captain Waring had evidently fallen among old friends. They discussed people and places--to which the others were strangers--and Mrs. Bellett was particularly animated, and laughed incessantly--chiefly at her own remarks. “And so Lalla Paske is going to her Aunt Ida? I thought Ida Langrishe _hated_ girls. I wonder if she will be able to manage her niece, and what sort of a chaperon she will make?” “A splendid one, I should say,” responded a man in a suit like a five-barred gate--“on the principle of set a thief to catch a thief.” “And old Mother Brande, up at Shirani, is expecting a niece too. What fun it will be! What rivalry between her and Ida! What husband-hunting, and scheming, and match-making! It will be as good as one of Oscar Wilde’s plays. I am rather sorry that I shall not be there to see. I shall get people to write to me--you for one, Captain Waring,” and she nodded at him graciously. Mark noticed his companion, who had been drinking water (deluded girl--railway station water), put down her glass hastily, and fix her eyes on Mrs. Bellett. No one could call her pale _now_. “I wonder what Mrs. Brande’s niece will be like?” drawled her sister. “I wonder if she, like her aunt, has been in domestic service. He, he, he!” she giggled affectedly. There was a general laugh, in the midst of which a clear treble voice was heard-- “If you particularly wish to know, I can answer _that_ question.” It was the pale girl who was speaking. Mrs. Coote simply glared, too astounded to utter a syllable.