"Then the election will interfere with the grouse-shooting, will it not?" Jack laughed. "Yes, but apparently it is decided that Imperial affairs are to rank above grouse-shooting for once in a way!" Mildred looked at the clock. "I must go," she said. "I've got a hair-dresser and a dressmaker and a manicurist all waiting, and, for aught I know, a palmist and a dentist, and I'm dining at the Hungarian Embassy, an affair which demands, if not prayer, at any rate fasting. I never get used to that sort of _corvée_." "Why do you do it, then?" "Because it is only by doing that sort of thing with religious regularity that you get to the stage when you need no longer do it unless you choose. Besides, I purpose to say a word for you in an august ear. He is taking an interest, I am told, in the army. He also takes an interest in me. I amuse him. Come to lunch to-morrow, and tell me what has happened." The thunderstorm predicted by Lady Brereton was already beginning to grumble in the west as Jack left the house, and before he got to Park Lane a few large, warm drops were splashing on the pavements. He asked the man who opened the door whether his wife was at home, and, learning that she was in, went up to her sitting-room. Marie was there, sitting in the balcony overlooking the park, her back turned to the room, so that she did not see Jack as he entered. By her was sitting another figure, whom he recognised. Jack strolled out to join them, lighting a cigarette. "Good-evening, Spencer," he said. "Pray don't move. There's a storm coming up." But Jim Spencer rose. "I was just going," he said. "I shall just get home before it begins." He shook hands with them both, and went through the sitting-room and down-stairs. On the sound of the front-door banging behind him Jack spoke. "Do you remember my warning you that people would talk if you were intimate with that man?" he said. "Perfectly." "You have chosen to disregard my warning. The consequence is that people have begun to talk." Marie got up. "Who, and where?" she said, facing him. "It does not matter who. Where? In the clubs. 'So the Snowflake has melted. I saw her driving with the melter.' I heard that said this afternoon." The rain began to fall heavily, and a blue scribble of light rent the sky. Marie did not reply, but went inside, followed by her husband. The room was very dark, and each could see no more than the form of the other. In the gloom her answer came--very cool and crisp, an extraordinary contrast to the hot, thick darkness. "And you tell this to me," she asked--"to me?" "It concerns you, does it not?" "As much as that which the gutter press says of the King concerns the King. And you knew it, Jack." Jack sat down in a chair, his back to what light there was. To her he was almost invisible except for the glowing spark of his cigarette, which, as he drew breath, faintly illuminated his mouth.