"Well, you are not going to meet him here," Harold said. "Mrs. Benstein has got some little scheme on, and I am here an involuntary ally in the matter. You will be good enough to leave a note here for Hamid Khan, explaining that you have been called out on business, or pleasure, or whatever you like; so that Hamid Khan is to meet you at the Belgrave at two for luncheon, after which you will seal his papers. This is not my idea, but Mrs. Benstein’s. I am looking forward to a very pretty comedy presently." The Shan scrambled off his note and presently departed with Harold, who had no intention of losing sight of his dusky friend till the luncheon-party was over. To the Shan’s suggestion of the club and billiards he assented, but to a feeble suggestion of modest liquids he turned a deaf ear. On the whole, Denvers was glad to find himself on his way to the Belgrave. Mrs. Benstein had already arrived, accompanied by Angela. She had fetched the latter, she explained, so that she would have no time for an excuse. A spray of the Cardinal Moth flashed and trembled on Mrs. Benstein’s breast; the same spray of purple orchid that Angela had worn the night before in her hair, was tucked into her belt. Mrs. Benstein was frank and easy and charming as usual, but there was just a touch of colour in her cheeks, and her eyes had a brighter sparkle than usual. "I have managed everything myself," she cried, gaily. "I have even arranged the flowers on the table. A strange thing, is it not, that we English people can arrange flowers!" "Ah, here is Mr. Parkford." Parkford came up, alert, quick, and self-possessed as usual. Denvers gave him an inquiring glance, at which he smiled and tapped his breast-pocket significantly. "No flowers, any of you!" Mrs. Benstein cried in affected surprise. "Here is one for Mr. Parkford, and there is one for Mr. Denvers. Positively, I see nothing of the shade to suit the colouring of His Highness the Shan. Ah, here is the very thing! Excuse me, Miss Lyne." The speaker bent down and broke off a little spray of one blossom of the purple orchid from Angela’s belt, and herself fixed it in the lapel of the Shan’s immaculate coat. "Who can say that it is not in perfect taste?" she cried. "It is the very shade. We will sit down, and unless Sir Clement Frobisher turns up in time we will proceed without him."