‘Her womanly charm gave place now to her masculine grip. She eulogised me in the language of a seasoned reviewer on the staff of a long-established journal--wordy perhaps, but sound. I revered and loved her. I wished I could give her my undivided attention. But, whilst I sat there, teacup, in hand, between her and the Duchess, part of my brain was fearfully concerned with that glimpse I had had of Braxton. It didn’t so much matter that he was here to halve my triumph. But suppose he knew what I had told the Duchess! And suppose he had--no, surely if he HAD shown me up in all my meanness she wouldn’t have received me so very cordially. I wondered where she could have met him since that evening of the Inkwomen. I heard Lady Rodfitten concluding her review of “Ariel” with two or three sentences that might have been framed specially to give the publisher an easy “quote.” And then I heard myself asking mechanically whether she had read “A Faun on the Cotswolds.” The Duchess heard me too. She turned from talking to other people and said “I did like Mr. Braxton so VERY much.” ‘“Yes,” I threw out with a sickly smile, “I’m so glad you asked him to come.” ‘“But I didn’t ask him. I didn’t DARE.” ‘“But--but--surely he wouldn’t be--be HERE if--” We stared at each other blankly. “Here?” she echoed, glancing at the scattered little groups of people on the lawn. I glanced too. I was much embarrassed. I explained that I had seen Braxton “standing just over there” when I arrived, and had supposed he was one of the people who came by the earlier train. “Well,” she said with a slightly irritated laugh, “you must have mistaken some one else for him.” She dropped the subject, talked to other people, and presently moved away. ‘Surely, thought I, she didn’t suspect me of trying to make fun of her? On the other hand, surely she hadn’t conspired with Braxton to make a fool of ME? And yet, how could Braxton be here without an invitation, and without her knowledge? My brain whirled. One thing only was clear. I could NOT have mistaken anybody for Braxton. There Braxton had stood--Stephen Braxton, in that old pepper-and-salt suit of his, with his red tie all askew, and without a hat--his hair hanging over his forehead. All this I had seen sharp and clean-cut. There he had stood, just beside one of the women who travelled down in the same compartment as I; a very pretty woman in a pale blue dress; a tall woman--but I had noticed how small she looked beside Braxton. This woman was now walking to and fro, yonder, with M. de Soveral. I had seen Braxton beside her as clearly as I now saw M. de Soveral.