“Would he have known me again, suppose you had?” asked Michael, smiling. “Known you?” said the baronet contemptuously. “He will not only know you, but he’ll be able to trail you down. Notice him smelling his hand? He was filing you for reference, my boy. If I told him ‘Go along and take this message to Brixan,’ he’d find you.” When they reached the lovely gardens at the back of the house, the first scene had been shot, and there was a smile on Jack Knebworth’s face which suggested that Adele’s misgivings had not been justified. And so it proved. “That girl’s a peach,” Jack unbent to say. “A natural born actress, built for this scene—it’s almost too good to be true. What do you want?” It was Mr. Reggie Connolly, and he had the obsession which is perpetual in every leading man. He felt that sufficient opportunities had not been offered to him. “I say, Mr. Knebworth,” he said in a grieved tone, “I’m not getting much of the fat in this story! So far, there’s about thirty feet of me in this picture. I say, that’s not right, you know! If a johnny is being featured——” “You’re not being featured,” said Jack shortly. “And Mendoza’s chief complaint was that there was too much of you in it.” Michael looked round. Sir Gregory Penne had strolled toward where the girl was standing, and, in her state of elation, she had no room in her heart even for resentment against the man she so cordially detested. “Little girl, I want to speak to you before you go,” he said, dropping his voice, and for once she smiled at him. “Well, you have a good opportunity now, Sir Gregory,” she said. “I want to tell you how sorry I am for what happened the other day, and I respect you for what you said, for a girl’s entitled to keep her kisses for men she likes. Aren’t I right?” “Of course you’re right,” she said. “Please don’t think any more about it, Sir Gregory.” “I’d no right to kiss you against your will, especially when you’re in my house. Are you going to forgive me?” “I do forgive you,” she said, and would have left him, but he caught her arm. “You’re coming to dinner, aren’t you?” He jerked his head toward the watchful Michael. “Your friend said he’d bring you along.” “Which friend?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “You mean Mr. Brixan?” “That’s the fellow. Why do you make friends with that kind of man? Not that he isn’t a decent fellow. I like him personally. Will you come along to dinner?” “I’m afraid I can’t,” she said, her old aversion gaining ground. “Little girl,” he said earnestly, “there’s nothing you couldn’t have from me. Why do you want to trouble your pretty head about this cheap play acting? I’ll give you a company of your own if you want it, and the best car that money can buy.” His eyes were like points of fire, and she shivered. “I have all I want, Sir Gregory,” she said.