"Would you care to have supper with me at my house to-night?" she asked, not taking her hand from his. The invitation was so unexpected that Jack could hardly believe it had been given. Yet he heard himself answering, "Yes, I should be delighted." "I am glad," she said, in her perfect English, with the pretty accent that was part of her charm. "Perhaps you don't know where I live? I have taken a house, furnished: Mrs. Lloyd-Jackson's house on Park Avenue. You have been there? Supper will be at twelve. Till then----" She was gone. "By Jingo, you've made a hit, my boy!" chuckled Pavoya's manager. It was all Jack could do to detach himself from thoughts of Lyda, and go about Juliet's business between ten-forty and midnight. For the first time in his life the prospect of seeing Juliet was distasteful to him. He didn't want to see her, because she would ask him about Lyda Pavoya, and in his present mood there was nothing he would hate worse than discussing the Polish girl with his cousin. But he was as sorry for Juliet as ever, and just as anxious to help her. Desperately against the grain, he took a taxi and drove to the Phayre house, which he found brilliantly lighted. The huge front looked so gay that for a moment he hoped Pat had come back. But he asked for the Duke, and was told gravely by Togo that His Grace was not at home. The Duchess, however, was expecting Captain Manners. Juliet was waiting, not in her boudoir, but in the Chinese room which her father had loved. She no longer wore the dressing gown she had put on when nursing her headache in the afternoon, but was dazzling in some flame-coloured film over shot gold and purple tissue. "You've had good news!" Jack exclaimed at sight of her. "No, I've had none whatever," she said. "If possible, things are worse. I know why you thought something good had happened. All the lights, and this dress! But if you were a woman you'd understand. I've realized that there's a fight in front of me. I want it to be a silent battle. I don't wish people to know I'm fighting at all--till I see what the end's likely to be." "I do understand," Jack said. "You're a brave girl, and I believe the end will be all right." He hurried on to talk about Pat, and thus put off the bad moment when she would question him about Pavoya. As nothing had been heard of the missing one and Juliet seemed now even more anxious than angry, Jack decided to confess having telephoned to all the hospitals. It was good news, he insisted, that these enquiries had drawn blank, and he did his best as a comforter by saying that Pat had probably gone off in a huff. People who loved each other flew into rages more easily than those who didn't care. Men of Pat's temperament didn't lie down quietly to be trampled on by their wives. He'd write soon, or send word somehow when his first fury had exploded. Or, at worst, he would communicate with the bank, even if he didn't turn up for work there.