Mrs. Neville Williams frowned. “No, thanks,” she answered tersely. “I scarcely know her. She is a _gauche_ little country wench, is she not? My late husband’s relations have not treated me very kindly, and we are not on the best of terms.” Her gaze suddenly became riveted on two gentlemen who were passing in front of the stalls to the artists’ room. They seemed to possess some fascination for her, for she stopped fanning herself, and her eyes dilated. Her expression reminded Bexley of a warhorse, when it scents the battle-field; he did not quite know what to make of it. In another moment, however, her sudden agitation had passed; she was demure and calm again. “Those gentlemen,” she murmured, having noticed Bexley look over to them and bow--“you know them?” “Yes. The one is Mr. Haviland, the giver of this concert.” “And the other?” “The other is Herbert Karne.” “Ah!” The exclamation was short and sharp. Bexley was not sure whether it implied surprise or relief. “I dare say you have seen his ‘Farewell to the World’ at the Academy?” he inquired. “It is a beautiful picture.” “No,” she replied nervously. “I have not been to the Royal Academy this season. I have only just returned to town.” She toyed absently with her long neck-chain, from which were suspended, in cheerful incongruity, a small ebony and silver crucifix, a tiny ivory death’s-head with diamonds set in the eye-holes, a miniature horse-shoe, and a diminutive champagne-bottle designed in solid gold. Bexley wondered why she wore them; they were certainly not pretty, and, as charms, he considered them out of place. “Mr. Karne is the half-brother of Miss Celia Franks,” he informed her. “Did you hear Miss Franks sing in Paris? She made her _début_ there.” “Yes, I heard her sing. She sang very well. I had no idea, though, that she was Herbert Karne’s half-sister. I was not aware that he had a half-sister.” “Then you do know him?” Bexley interpolated quickly. “I just know him, that is all,” she answered evenly. “I do not suppose, however, that he remembers me. Our introduction took place many years ago.” The performers were taking their places for the trio with which the concert opened. Mrs. Neville Williams bowed and swept away. She carried herself with more hauteur than usual, and there was a bright spot, which was not rouge, on either of her cheeks. Lord Bexley returned to his seat, and affected not to notice his sister’s expression of disapproval. He passed the programme to Gladys Milnes, and then leant back and appeared absorbed in the music. The trio was one composed by Beethoven for piano, violin, and ’cello, all three performers being skilled executants. When the second movement came to a close, Lady Marjorie spoke. “You seem to have found plenty to say to that woman,” she remarked caustically. “I should advise you to be careful, Bexley, or you will find yourself the next on her list.”