“She is magnificent!” murmured Deacon rapturously. “I have never seen so beautiful a woman.” His glance followed the tall figure as it passed into a smaller salon on the left; nor was he alone in his regard. Fashionable society was well represented in the gallery--where a collection of pictures by a celebrated artist was being shown; and prior to the entrance of the lady in the strangely fashioned tiger-skin cloak, the somewhat extraordinary works of art had engaged the interest even of the most fickle, but, from the moment the tiger-lady made her appearance, even the most daring canvases were forgotten. “She wears tiger-skin shoes!” whispered one. “She is like a design for a poster!” laughed another. “I have never seen anything so flashy in my life,” was the acrid comment of a third. “What a dazzlingly beautiful woman!” remarked another--this one a man. While: “Who is she?” arose upon all sides. Judging from the isolation of the barbaric figure, it would seem that society did not know the tiger-lady, but Deacon, seizing his companion by the arm and almost dragging him into the small salon which the lady had entered, turned in the doorway and looked into Annesley's eyes. Annesley palpably sought to evade the glance. “You know everybody,” whispered Deacon. “You must be acquainted with her.” A great number of people were now thronging into the room, not so much because of the pictures it contained, but rather out of curiosity respecting the beautiful unknown. Annesley tried to withdraw; his uneasiness grew momentarily greater. “I scarcely know her well enough,” he protested, “to present you. Moreover------” “But she's smiling at you!” interrupted Deacon eagerly. His handsome but rather weak face was flushed; he was, as an old clubman had recently said of him, “so very young.” He lacked the restraint usual in cultured Englishmen, and had the frankly passionate manner which one associates with the South. His uncle, Colonel Deacon, a mordant wit, would say apologetically: “Reggie” (Deacon's father) “married a Gascon woman. She was delightfully pretty. Poor Reggie!” Certainly Rene was impetuous to an embarrassing degree, nor lightly to be thwarted. Boldly meeting the glance of the woman of the amber eyes, he pushed Annesley forward, not troubling to disguise his anxiety to be presented to the tiger-lady. She turned her head languidly, with that wild-animal grace of hers, and unsmiling now, regarded Annesley. “So you forget me so soon, Mr. Annesley,” she murmured, “or is it that you play the good shepherd?” “My dear Madame,” said Annesley, recovering with an effort his wonted sang-froid, “I was merely endeavouring to calm the rhapsodies of my friend, who seemed disposed to throw himself at your feet in knight-errant fashion.” “He is a very handsome boy,” murmured Madame; and as the great eyes were turned upon Deacon the carmine lips curved again in the Cleopatrian smile.