Jack had obeyed a gesture of hers, and laid the faintly perfumed cloak on a sofa. Lyda wore a dress simple enough for the first dinner-gown of a schoolgirl: grey and short--almost "skimpy," yet somehow perfect, without a single touch of trimming or a jewel. "Shall we go into the dining room?" she asked. "Supper will be ready. It always is. I never have it announced unless I've a party. To-night it's only you and me. You'll not mind?" "Mind!" The word spoke itself with a boyish sincerity that Jack could not have pretended. "I didn't dare dream----" She led the way through open sliding doors to an adjoining room, not turning her head to listen as she let Jack push the half-drawn portières aside. What a divine back she had, and what dimples in the delicate, flat shoulder-blades! An almost overpowering desire gripped Jack to kiss the white neck just where a knot of shining red hair was kept in place by a jade pin. He would no more have ventured upon a liberty with this creature of unfathomed reserves than he would have thrown himself into the cage of a tigress. All the same, he had definitely "lost his head." He knew that he would have sacrificed Juliet and Pat for this girl, not deliberately, not through conviction, but because he couldn't help himself if it came to a choice! In the octagon-shaped room where its late mistress had given famous dinners for eight--never less, never more--a small table was laid and lit with shaded candles, but no servants were there. Violets were scattered on the lace table-cover, the only flower decorations. For the guest there were several elaborate cold dishes and champagne in ice; for the hostess, brown bread and a jug of milk! When she saw Jack look at this, Lyda laughed out aloud. "I never take anything else at night," she explained. "I suppose I'm a queer person. Probably you're thinking me odd in many ways: for one, to have you alone with me at supper. I've a companion who lives with me, Madame Lemercier, a nice woman. But I do what I wish without thinking of conventions, if I hurt no one. People say so many things about me, they can say no worse, whatever I do! That's partly why I act as I please. Yet I think I'd do the same without an excuse. I invited you because I want to talk with you alone; no Madame Lemercier; no servants. I'll wait on you myself." "Not that!" said Manners. "You must let me wait on you!" "We'll wait on each other," she smiled. A sense of exquisite intimacy with this girl, or woman (he knew not what to call her) took possession of Jack. For a few minutes they ate, and he talked of anything that flashed into his mind. When Lyda had finished her milk he jumped up, and filled the glass again. Then she said abruptly: "I recognized you, at the theatre--from _yesterday_. Did you think I would?" "No!" Jack reddened to his sun-bleached hair. "But--you must have known I was in Claremanagh's study when--you were there." "I--wasn't sure."