It was a Sunday afternoon in November. Outside, a grey mist hung over streets and squares, filling the air with unpleasant dampness; but inside--in this particular St. John’s Wood drawing-room, at least--there was warmth and comfort. The lamps under their crimson shades combined with the crackling fire to generate a cheerful light and heat, the pleasant effect of which was heightened by the clink of tea-cups and the buzz of human voices. A stranger had merely to glance casually around to know that this was the apartment of one who was in some way connected with the drama. There were portraits everywhere: on the walls, the mantelpiece, the boudoir grand piano, and on both sides of a large screen; in fact, in every nook where there was the smallest space. Most of them portrayed the charms of well-known actors and actresses, some of them being the leading lights of the dramatic profession in England, America, and France. Art and music were also represented, although in a lesser degree; and each portrait was signed by the autograph of the original, in some cases supplemented by a friendly inscription. The latest addition to this collection was a panel portrait of Celia Franks, in the character of Galatea, which was the last part in which she had performed at the Academy; and in close proximity to it sat Celia herself, carelessly stirring her tea. She was talking to the famous and marvellously beautiful actress, Mrs. Potter Wemyss, who, having at Haviland’s request attended the dress rehearsal of the new play, was so delighted with Celia’s acting as to wish to give her a few hints before the important first night. This was a great honour, for Mrs. Potter Wemyss did not usually trouble to give a novice the benefit of her advice; so Celia, appreciating it as such, listened with eager attention. There were several other people in the room, including a little woman in black, who poured out the tea and spoke to nobody--she was the insignificant mistress of the house; Guy Haviland himself, genial as ever; his sister Grace, who was talking to Mrs. Neville Williams; and Lord Bexley, who sat silent in a far-off shadowy corner. Bexley looked preoccupied as he absent-mindedly twirled his moustache. He watched Celia Franks and Mrs. Potter Wemyss, and wondered which of the two distinct types of beauty were the more perfect from the artistic point of view. Mrs. Potter Wemyss was Irish, with typical Irish eyes, and plump yet delicately moulded features. Celia, although her profile reminded him of a Greek statue, had the advantage of her Semitic descent; and with her red-gold hair would have made an excellent study for the Madonna, the accepted ideal of Jewish virginal beauty.