Nora was evidently neither attired nor equipped this afternoon for a tea party at Claridge's. She wore a dark blue princess frock, buttoned right up to the throat. Her hair was brushed straight back from her head, revealing a little more completely her finely shaped forehead. She was seated before a round table covered with papers, and Tallente fancied, even as he crossed the threshold, that there was an electric atmosphere in the little apartment, an impression which the smouldering fire in her eyes, as she glanced up, confirmed. The change in her expression, however, as she recognised her visitor, was instantaneous. A delightful smile of welcome chased away the sombreness of her face. "My dear man," she exclaimed, "come and sit down and help me to forget that annoying person who has just gone out!" Tallente smiled. "Miller is not one of your favorites, then?" "Isn't he the most impossible person who ever breathed." she replied. "He was a conscientious objector during the war, a sex fanatic since--Mr. Dartrey had to use all his influence to keep him out of prison for writing those scurrulous articles in the Comet--and I think he is one of the smallest-minded, most untrustworthy persons I ever met. For some reason or other, Stephen Dartrey believes in him. He has a wonderful talent for organization and a good deal of influence with the trades unions.--By the by, it's all right about the muffins." She rang the bell and ordered tea. Tallente glanced for a moment about the room. The four walls were lined with well-filled bookcases, but the mural decorations consisted--except for one wonderful nude figure, copy of a well-known Rodin--of statistical charts and shaded maps. There were only two signs of feminine occupation: an immense bowl of red roses, rising with strange effect from the sea of manuscript, pamphlets, and volumes of reference, and a wide, luxurious couch, drawn up to the window, through which the tops of a little clump of lime trees were just visible. As she turned back to him, he noticed with more complete appreciation the lines of her ample but graceful figure, the more remarkable because she was neither tall nor slim. "So that was your wife at Claridge's yesterday afternoon?" she remarked, a little abruptly. He assented in silence. Her eyes sought his speculatively. "I know that Lady Clanarton is a terrible gossip," she went on. "Was she telling me the truth when she said that your married life was not an entire success?" "She was telling you the truth," Tallente admitted. "I like to know everything," she suggested quietly. "You must remember that we shall probably become intimates."