To the trained hand and to the practised eyes, these things can not only be done with dexterity, they can be done with ease and with style. There are many who imagine that the days of romance are over because gentlemen do no longer saunter through the salons of the rich with pointed rapiers tapping at their heels. But romance did not go out with the duel. The duel itself has never gone out. Words, looks--these are the weapons of romance now. They are sheathed in their scabbards of velvet politesse, but just as easy of drawing, just as light to flash out and tingle in the air as ever were the dainty little Toledo blades of some odd two hundred years ago. "Jack," said Mrs. Durlacher, "you've introduced me to a diplomatist. She says what she means without telling you what she says." Traill thought that it all alluded to the portrait of James Brownrigg--imagined that Sally agreed with him, yet did not like to contradict his sister, and he laughed with amusement at the smartness of her retort. But Sally returned to her seat, conscious that she had made an enemy. She could think of no reply that had not a lash of bitterness in it and, clinging to the dignity of silence, rather than the vigour of attack, she said nothing. When Traill had handed her her coffee, his sister moved slowly across the room to the settle where her fur coat, scarf and gloves were lying. "You're not going?" he asked, looking up. "Yes, I must, my dear boy. It's getting on for ten. Harold's got some people coming in after the theatre, and I believe we've got a supper. Do you think you could get me a taxi?" "There's not a stand here. But you can get any amount of hansoms." "Yes, but I want to get home. You're sure to find heaps of empty ones in Piccadilly Circus just at this time. Run and see--do. I'll be putting on my coat." Traill went--obedient. They heard him taking the stairs two at a time in the darkness. Then the door slammed. "One of these days he'll break his neck down those stairs," said Mrs. Durlacher. "Do you live in Town, Miss Bishop?" She ran one sentence into the other inconsequently, as if they had connection. "Well--not exactly," said Sally. "I live in Kew." "Oh yes--Kew--it's a very pretty place. There are some delightful old houses on the Green--the gardens side--I believe they're King's property, aren't they?" "I know the ones you mean," said Sally; "they are very nice, but I don't live there." She added that with a smile--a generous admission that she made no pretension to what she was not. Upon Mrs. Durlacher it was wasted, as was all generosity. She had not the quality herself; understood it as little as she possessed it. "Oh, I wasn't supposing that," she replied easily. "I was thinking that that was the only part of Kew I had noticed. I think I've only been there once or twice at the most. Have you known my brother long?" Sally's fingers gripped tight about her little parcel. "Oh no, not so very long."