In one of the smaller refreshment rooms sat Mr. Selingman, a bottle of champagne before him and a wondrously attired lady on either side. The heads of all three were close together. The lady on the left was talking in a low tone but with many gesticulations. "Dear friend," she exclaimed, "for one single moment you must not think that I am ungrateful! But consider. Success costs money always, and I have been successful--you admit that. My rooms are frequented entirely by the class of young men you have wished me to encourage. Pauline and I here, and Rose, whom you have met, seek our friends in no other direction. We are never alone, and, as you very well know, not a day has passed that I have not sent you some little word of gossip or information--the gossip of the navy and the gossip of the army--and there is always some truth underneath what these young men say. It is what you desire, is it not?" "Without a doubt," Selingman assented. "Your work, my dear Helda, has been excellent. I commend you. I think with fervour of the day when first we talked together, and the scheme presented itself to me. Continue to play Aspasia in such a fashion to the young soldiers and sailors of this country, and your villa at Monte Carlo next year is assured." The woman shrugged her shoulders. "I will not say that you are not generous," she declared, "for that would be untrue, but sometimes you forget that these young men have very little money, and the chief profit from their friendship, therefore, must come to us in other ways." "You want a larger allowance?" Selingman asked slowly. "Not at present, but I want to warn you that the time may come when I shall need more. A salon in Pimlico, dear friend, is an expensive thing to maintain. These young men tell their friends of our hospitality, the music, our entertainment. We become almost too much the fashion, and it costs money." Selingman held up his champagne glass, gazed at the wine for a moment, and slowly drank it. "I am not of those," he announced, "who expect service for nothing, especially good service such as yours. Watch for the postman, dear lady. Any morning this week there may come for you a pleasant little surprise." She leaned over and patted his arm. "You are a prince," she murmured. "But tell me, who is the grave-looking young man?" Selingman glanced up. Norgate, who had been standing at the bar with Baring, was passing a few feet away. "The rake's progress," the former quoted solemnly. Selingman raised his glass. "Come and join us," he invited. Norgate shook his head slightly and passed on. Selingman leaned a little forward, watching his departing figure. The buoyant good-nature seemed to have faded out of his face. "If you could get that young man to talk, now, Helda," he muttered, "it would be an achievement." She glanced after him, "To me," she declared, "he looks one of the difficult sort."