'If you've any business with Mrs. Trevalla, perhaps she'll avail herself of my help,' he said; 'although hardly at the present moment or here.' Beaufort Chance laughed. 'Dear me, no,' he answered. 'We've no business, have we, Mrs. Trevalla? I was only joking about a little flutter Mrs. Trevalla has on under the auspices of our common friend--Fricker, you know.' 'I have not the pleasure of knowing Mr. Fricker,' said Mervyn coldly. 'He's at a disadvantage compared with us, isn't he, Mrs. Trevalla?' Mervyn turned from him in a distaste that he took no pains to conceal, and fixed his eyes on Trix's face. Was it possible--really possible--that she could be charged with having 'a flutter' under the auspices of Fricker, and stand dumb before the accusation? Trix laughed nervously, and at last managed to speak. 'That's all very ancient history, Mr. Chance. You should have your gossip more up to date.' 'Then you've sold your Glowing Stars?' he retorted quickly. He desired the pleasure of making her lie and of knowing the degradation that she felt. There was just an instant's pause. Then Lord Glentorly struck in. 'I don't know whether all this is your business,' he said to Beaufort, 'but I do know it isn't mine. If Mrs. Trevalla allows, we'll drop the subject.' 'It's very dull anyhow,' stammered Trix. 'I touched on it quite accidentally,' smiled Beaufort. 'Well, all good wishes again, Mrs. Trevalla.' With a bow of insolent familiarity he turned on his heel and began to walk back towards Lady Blixworth. After a moment's hesitation Mervyn followed him. Trix darted to Glentorly. 'Take me somewhere,' she whispered. 'Take me away somewhere for a minute.' 'Away from that fellow, yes,' he agreed with a disgusted air. Trix seemed to hear him imperfectly. 'Yes, yes, away from Mortimer,' she whispered. The swiftest glance betrayed Glentorly's surprise as he obeyed her; she put her arm in his and he led her into the next room, where a sideboard with refreshments stood. 'What does the fellow mean?' he asked scornfully. 'It's nothing. Give me a little champagne,' said Trix. Beaufort Chance lounged up to Lady Blixworth. 'Well, you saw me making myself pleasant?' His manner was full of a rude coarse exultation. Lady Blixworth put up her long-handled _pince-nez_ and regarded him through it. 'She hasn't quite cut me, you see,' he went on. 'I beg your pardon, Chance, may I have a word with you?' Mervyn came up and joined them. Lady Blixworth leant back and looked at the pair. She had never thought Mervyn a genius, and she was very tolerant; yet she had at that moment the fullest possible realisation of the difference between the two: it was between barbarism and civilisation. Both might be stupid, both might on occasion be cruel. But there was the profound difference of method. 'A word with me, Mervyn? Of course.' 'By ourselves, I mean.' His stiffness vigorously refused the approaches of Beaufort's familiarity.