"I thought your English was uncommonly good for a native," he said. "Of course, I know all about you now. My wife, who knows the history of everybody in London, I believe, told me about Harold Denvers and Miss Lyne, and how you had been forbidden the house and all that kind of thing. I seem to remember, too, that at one time your father and Frobisher were by the way of being friends." "To my father’s cost," Harold said with some little bitterness. "He robbed and ruined my father, and he died a broken man. That was before Frobisher put money in his purse by so shamefully abusing his position in the diplomatic service. As to Miss Lyne——" "Miss Lyne may be of the greatest possible service to us," Parkford said. "She is of use at the present moment," Harold said. "Of course she knows I am here and why, though I should be kicked out of the house if discovered. Miss Lyne is keeping Mrs. Benstein out of the way for the moment—out of Frobisher’s way, that is." Parkford jerked his thumb over his right shoulder and nodded. As Harold looked up he saw the shifting figure of Frobisher passing through the crowd. His eyes were narrow and eager, he seemed to be looking furtively and greedily for some one. "The bloodhound is astir," Parkford muttered. "We must cross his trail without delay." *CHAPTER XVII.* *A FRIEND IN NEED.* Angela took her place by Mrs. Benstein’s side as if they had been friends of standing. She had a game to play, and not too many instructions as to how it was to be played, but, at the same time, she was strangely moved to the financier’s wife. In spite of her beauty and intelligence there was an atmosphere about her that was just a little pathetic. She reminded Angela of some white mountain-peak stretching away far above its fellows, solitary, beautiful and alone. The light shimmered upon her jewels as they gently heaved upon her breast. Her fine eyes were just a little interrogative as they turned upon Angela. "It is very good of you to interest yourself in me," she said. "I wonder why you do it?" Angela coloured slightly; after all, her attentions were not quite disinterested. "Perhaps it is because you fascinate me," Angela said frankly. "I have never seen any one like you before. I love character. And yet, you seem quite lonely, as if you were apart from the rest." "Well, so I am," Isa Benstein replied. "The men on occasions like this count for nothing. I never see a lot of men crowded round a pretty woman without a strong temptation to laugh. They look so foolish. And yet your women here rather avoid me—they are not quite sure of my position. But I could lead the whole lot of them if I chose to do so." Angela did not doubt it. She had only to look in that beautiful face and see that the boast was no idle one. The brilliant light died out of the speaker’s eyes.