She took great pains in dressing for her visit to Mrs. Lambert’s. She was free from the spirit of feminine emulation, but she wanted to look her best, to please Alexandra’s critical taste, so that she might remember how she looked that day, in case they might never see each other again. Maggy had never before been inclined to depression, but the clammy fingers of morbidity touched her now. She elected to wear a frock of sprigged muslin and a simple hat that she had trimmed herself. The hat was in part a concession to Woolf, for she took pleasure in such tasks, and liked him to see that she could excel in them. Thus dressed, she was quite perfect. Her coloring was so vivid and her figure so mature that extreme simplicity suited her. But she was not quite satisfied with the effect. Her eyes roved over the dressing-table in search of some finishing touch, and came to a stop at her jewel-case. From it she took a diamond bracelet Woolf had given her, and put it on. He had bestowed it on her with great impressiveness, and she accordingly believed it to be very valuable. When she reached Albert Place neither Mrs. Lambert nor Alexandra was in. They had been detained somewhere and had telephoned through to say so. The maid showed her into the drawing room. Somewhat to her dismay she found it occupied by a man. She did not know him by sight, but she immediately came to the conclusion that he must be Lord Chalfont. She felt awkward, uncertain whether it was "proper" to speak or not. She had not encountered any men of rank before, and had not the average chorus girl’s assurance with male members of the peerage. Lord Chalfont got up. "I fancy we’re both here for the same reason: to lunch," he said pleasantly. "Shall we become known to each other? I’m Lord Chalfont." "My name’s Delamere," rejoined Maggy. "We both owe something to the French, then. It ought to provide us with a sort of _entente cordiale_." "Oh, I don’t believe Delamere’s my right name. It’s too high-falutin’. But it’s the only one I know of. My mother took it for the stage and it had to do for my christening." The statement was made quite innocently. Chalfont was amused. "I’m sure I’ve seen you before," he said. His easy manner gave her confidence. She liked him. She felt she could talk to him without being on her guard. The way in which he looked at her had nothing disturbing in it. It was not the hunting look which she was accustomed to see in men’s eyes, and against which she was for ever armed. If there was a touch of admiration in it there was also respect. She recognized the difference, and knew she had to do with a gentleman. Woolf had spoken of him as a bounder. There he was obviously wrong. Lord Chalfont looked the sort of person she had seen in historical pictures, dressed in silk and lace, walking unconcernedly to have his head chopped off.