At dinner Mrs. Ingham-Baker was opposite to the Count, who seemed preoccupied and somewhat absent-minded. Her attention was divided between an anticipatory appreciation of Mrs. Harrington's cook and an evident admiration for her own daughter. "Agatha was just saying," observed the stout lady between the candle shades, "that we had not seen the Count de Lloseta for quite a long time. Only yesterday, was it not, dear?" Agatha acquiesced. "The loss," answered the Count, "is mine. But it is more than made good by the news that my small absence was noted. I have been abroad." Mrs. Harrington at the end of the table looked up sharply, and a few drops of soup fell from her upraised spoon with a splash. "In Spain?" she asked. "In Spain." CHAPTER IX. CUT FOR PARTNERS. Beware equally of a sudden friend and a slow enemy. A wise man had said of Cipriani de Lloseta that had he not been a Count he would have been a great musician. He had that singular facility with any instrument which is sometimes given to musical persons in recompense for voicelessness. The Count spoke like one who could sing, but his throat was delicate, and so the world lost a great singer. Of most instruments he spoke with a half-concealed contempt. But of the violin he said nothing. He was not a man to turn the conversational overflow upon self-evident facts. He invariably brought his violin to Grosvenor Gardens when Mrs. Harrington invited him, in her commanding way, to dine. It amused Mrs. Harrington to accompany his instrument on the piano. Her music was of the accompanying order. It was heartless and correct. Some of us, by the way, have friends of this same order, and, like Mrs. Harrington's music, they are not in themselves either interesting or pleasant. The piano stood in the inner drawing-room, and thither the Count and Mrs. Harrington repaired when the gentlemen had joined the ladies. In the larger drawing-room Luke was fortunate enough to secure a seat near to Agatha--quite near, and a long way from Mrs. Ingham-Baker, digestively asleep in an armchair. He did not exactly know how this arrangement was accomplished--it seemed to come. Possibly Agatha knew. Mrs. Harrington struck a keynote and began playing the prelude of a piece well known to them both. "Why did you not tell me that you were going to Spain?" she asked somewhat tersely, under cover of her own chords. "Had I known that it would interest you--" murmured De Lloseta, tightening his bow. There was a singular gleam in his eye. The gleam that one sees in the eye of a dog which has been thrashed, telling the wise that one day the dog will turn. "I am always interested," said the grey lady slowly, "in Spain--and even in Mallorca."