Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had not disguised the possibility of Jean Briggerland being at the club, and they found her with a gay party of young people, sitting in one of the recesses. Jean made a place for the girl by her side and introduced her to half a dozen people whose names Lydia did not catch, and never afterwards remembered. Mr. Marcus Stepney, however, that sleek, dark man, who bowed over her hand and seemed as though he were going to kiss it, she had met before, and her second impression of him was even less favourable than the first. "Do you dance?" asked Jean. A jazz band was playing an infectious two-step. At the girl's nod Jean beckoned one of her party, a tall, handsome boy who throughout the subsequent dance babbled into Lydia's ear an incessant pæan in praise of Jean Briggerland. Lydia was amused. "Of course she is very beautiful," she said in answer to the interminable repetition of his question. "I think she's lovely." "That's what I say," said the young man, whom she discovered was Lord Stoker. "The most amazingly beautiful creature on the earth, I think." "Of course you're awfully good-looking, too," he blundered, and Lydia laughed aloud. "But she's got enemies," said the young man viciously, "and if ever I meet that infernal cad, Glover, he'll be sorry." The smile left Lydia's face. "Mr. Glover is a friend of mine," she said a little quickly. "Sorry," he mumbled, "but----" "Does Miss Briggerland say he is so very bad?" "Of course not. She never says a word against him really." His lordship hastened to exonerate his idol. "She just says she doesn't know how long she's going to stand his persecutions. It breaks one's heart to see how sad this--your friend makes her." Lydia was a very thoughtful girl for the rest of the evening; she was beginning in a hazy way to see things which she had not seen before. Of course Jean never said anything against Jack Glover. And yet she had succeeded in arousing this youth to fury against the lawyer, and Lydia realised, with a sense of amazement, that Jean had also made her feel bad about Jack. And yet she had said nothing but sweet things. When she got back to the flat that night she found that Mr. Jaggs had not been there all the evening. He came in a few minutes after her, wrapped up in an old army coat, and from his appearance she gathered that he had been standing out in the rain and sleet the whole of the evening. "Why, Jaggs," she said impulsively, "wherever have you been?" "Just dodging round, miss," he grunted. "Having a look at the little ducks in the pond." "You've been outside the theatre, and you've been waiting outside Niro's Club," she said accusingly. "Don't know it, miss," he said. "One theayter is as much like another one to me." "You must take your things off and let Mrs. Morgan dry your clothes," she insisted, but he would not hear of this, compromising only with stripping his sodden great coat.