Mrs. Thorpe-Satchell laughed softly. Densham, although not a great artist, was the most fashionable portrait painter of the minute, and he had the knack of giving a _chic_ touch to his women--of investing them with a certain style without the sacrifice of similitude. He refused quite as many commissions as he accepted, and he could scarcely have flattered Mrs. Thorpe-Satchell more than by his request. She was delightfully amiable. "You are a dear old thing," she said, beaming upon him. "What shall I wear? That yellow satin gown that you like, or say you like, so much?" He discussed the question with her gravely. It was not until he rose to go that he actually broached the question which had been engrossing all his thoughts. "By the bye," he said, "I wanted to ask you something. You know Harcutt?" She nodded. Of course she knew Harcutt. Were her first suspicions correct! Had he some other reason for this visit of his? "Well," Densham went on, "he is immensely interested in some people who were at that stupid reception last night. He tried to get an introduction but he couldn't find any one who knew them, and he doesn't know the Princess well enough to ask her. He thought that he saw you speaking to the man, so I promised that when I saw you I would ask about them." "I spoke to a good many men," she said. "What is his name?" "Sabin--Mr. Sabin; and there is a girl, his daughter, or niece, I suppose." Was it Densham's fancy or had she indeed turned a shade paler. The little be-jewelled hand, which had been resting close to his, suddenly buried itself in the cushions. Densham, who was watching her closely, was conscious of a hardness about her mouth which he had never noticed before. She was silent some time before she answered him. "I am sorry," she said, slowly, "but I can tell you scarcely anything about them. I only met him once in India many years ago, and I have not the slightest idea as to who he is or where he came from. I am quite sure that I should not have recollected him last night but for his deformity." Densham tried very hard to hide his disappointment. "So you met him in India," he remarked. "Do you know what he was doing there? He was not in the service at all, I suppose." "I really do not know," she answered, "but I think not. I believe that he is, or was, very wealthy. I remember hearing a few things about him--nothing of much importance. But if Mr. Harcutt is your friend," she added, looking at him fixedly, "you can give him some excellent advice." "Harcutt is a very decent fellow," Densham said, "and I know that he will be glad of it." "Tell him to have nothing whatever to do with Mr. Sabin." Densham looked at her keenly. "Then you do know something about him," he exclaimed. She moved her chair back a little to where the light no longer played upon her face, and she answered him without looking up.