Then a strange thing happened. Instead of looking away at once, she kept her eyes steadily fixed upon me and suddenly gave a distinct start. I saw the colour rush into her face and leave it again almost as swiftly; her thin lips were slightly parted, and her whole expression was one of great agitation. I tried to look away, but I could not; I felt somehow forced to return her steady gaze. But when she turned to her husband and touched him on the arm, evidently to direct his attention to me, the spell was broken, and I moved my chair slightly, making some casual remark to my companion which was sufficient to set the ball of conversation rolling again. But one stolen glance a few moments later showed me that both husband and wife were regarding me attentively, and several times afterwards, when I looked over towards their table, I met Lady Langerdale's eyes, full of a sad, wistful, and withal puzzled expression which I could not read. As dinner drew towards a close it occurred to me that my _vis-à-vis_ had studiously avoided turning once towards our neighbours. If he desired to escape recognition, however, he was unsuccessful, for just as we were beginning to think of quitting our places, Lord Langerdale left his seat to speak to some acquaintances at the other end of the room, and on his way back he looked straight into my companion's face. He started slightly, hesitated, and then came slowly up to our table. "Eugène!" he exclaimed. "By all that's wonderful, is it really you? Why, we heard that you had become an Oriental, and forsworn the ways and haunts of civilisation." He spoke lightly, but it was easy to see that the meeting was a very embarrassing one for both of them. "I have not been in England long," was the quiet reply. "Lady Langerdale, I am glad to see, is well." "She is fairly well. How strange that we should meet here! Why, it must be twenty years since I have seen you." "I have spent but little time in England." "I suppose not," Lord Langerdale answered slowly. "We have heard of you occasionally. Will you come and speak to my wife?" "I think not," was the calm reply. "It could only be very painful for both of us. If Lady Langerdale desires it--not unless--I will call upon you at your rooms. But, frankly, I would rather not." Lord Langerdale appeared by no means offended, rather a little relieved, and answered sadly: "It is for you to choose. If you can tell her that the past has lost some of its bitterness for you, and--and----" He hesitated and seemed at a loss how to express himself. My _vis-à-vis_ smiled--a smile of peculiar bitterness it was--and interrupted cynically: