Only Mr. Prodger after all? But whom had Milly expected to see? The feeling was there and gone again that she would not have been surprised to see somebody quite different, before she realized this wasn’t quite the same Mr. Prodger as before. He was smarter than ever; all brushed, combed, shining. The ears that Marie had seen white as wax flashed as if they had been pink enamelled. Mother fluttered up in her pretty little way, so hoping he had not found the heat of the day too trying to be out in ... but happily it was a little early in the year for dust. Then Miss Anderson was introduced. Milly was ready this time for that fresh hand, but she almost gasped; it was so very chill. It was like a hand stretched out to you from the water. Then together they all sat down. “Is this your first visit to the Riviera?” asked Miss Anderson, graciously, dropping her handkerchief. “It is,” answered Mr. Prodger composedly, and he folded his arms as before. “I was in Florence until recently, but I caught a heavy cold——” “Florence so——” began Mother, when the beautiful brass gong, that burned like a fallen sun in the shadows of the hall, began to throb. First it was a low muttering, then it swelled, it quickened, it burst into a clash of triumph under Marie’s sympathetic fingers. Never had they been treated to such a performance before. Mr. Prodger was all attention. “That’s a very fine gong,” he remarked approvingly. “We think it is so very Oriental,” said Mother. “It gives our little meals quite an Eastern flavour. Shall we....” Their guest was at the door bowing. “So many gentlemen and only one lady,” fluttered Mother. “What I mean is the boot is on the other shoe. That is to say—come, Milly, come, dear.” And she led the way to the dining-room. Well, there they were. The cold, fresh napkins were shaken out of their charming shapes and Marie handed the omelette. Mr. Prodger sat on Mother’s right, facing Milly, and Miss Anderson had her back to the long windows. But after all—why should the fact of their having a man with them make such a difference? It did; it made all the difference. Why should they feel so stirred at the sight of that large hand outspread, moving among the wine glasses? Why should the sound of that loud, confident “Ah-hm!” change the very look of the dining-room? It was not a favourite room of theirs as a rule; it was overpowering. They bobbed uncertainly at the pale table with a curious feeling of exposure. They were like those meek guests who arrive unexpectedly at the fashionable hotel, and are served with whatever may be ready, while the real luncheon, the real guests lurk important and contemptuous in the background. And although it was impossible for Marie to be other than deft, nimble and silent, what heart could she have in ministering to that most uninspiring of spectacles—three ladies dining alone?