The butler lifted the wicker-work cradle with care, passed behind Toftrees, and set it before Gilbert Lothian. Lothian looked at it for a moment and then made a decisive movement of his head. "Thank you, no," he said, after a second's consideration, and in a voice that was slightly high-pitched but instinct with personality--it could never have been mistaken for any one else's voice, for instance--"I think I will have a whiskey and soda." Toftrees, at the end of the table, within two feet of Lothian, gave a mental start. The popular novelist was rather confused. A year ago no one had heard of Gilbert Lothian--that was not a name that counted in any way. He had been a sort of semi-obscure journalist who signed what he wrote in such papers as would print him. There were a couple of novels to his name which had obtained a sort of cult among minor people, and, certainly, some really eminent weeklies had published very occasional but signed reviews. As far as Herbert Toftrees could remember--and his jealous memory was good--Lothian had always been rather small beer until a year or so back. And then "Surgit Amari"--the first book of poems had been published. In a single month Lothian had become famous. For the ringing splendour of his words echoed in every heart. In this book, and in a subsequent volume, he had touched the very springs of tears. Not with sentiment--with the very highest and most electric literary art--he had tried and succeeded in irradiating the happenings of domestic life in the light that streamed from the Cross. ". . . Thank you, no. I think I will have a whiskey and soda." CHAPTER II GRAVELY UNFORTUNATE OCCURRENCE IN MRS. AMBERLEY'S DRAWING ROOM "[Greek: Misô mnêmona sumpotên], Procille." --_Martial._ --"One should not always take after-dinner amenities au pied de la lettre." --_Free Translation._ Toftrees, at the head of the table, shifted his chair a little so that he was almost facing Gilbert Lothian. Lothian's arresting voice was quite clear as he spoke to the butler. "That's not the voice of a man who's done himself too well," the novelist thought. But he was puzzled, nevertheless. People like Lothian behaved pretty much as they liked, of course. Convention didn't restrain them. But the sudden request was odd. And there was that flourishing bow as the women left the room, and certainly Amberley had seemed to look rather strangely at his guest. Toftrees disposed himself to watch events. He had wanted to meet the poet for some time. There was a certain reason. No one knew much about him in London. He lived in the country and was not seen in the usual places despite his celebrity. There had been a good deal of surmise about this new star.