"Who are the Armstrongs?" Claude was taken aback by this question. In his world, where everybody knew everybody else, the bare name of Armstrong had a very definite and compact meaning. "Dear little ignoramus! The Dupont Armstrongs, of course." This addition meant very little more to Janet, although it rekindled a vague memory that she had seen the name somewhere in the newspapers. Politely concealing his wonderment, Claude explained more at length. He said that Colonel Dupont Armstrong came of an old Southern family, and was the active head of the great firm of Harmon, Armstrong & Co., the international bankers whose financial power had built golden bridges between continents. His wife had a passion for collecting exquisite jewels; he had a mania for hoarding Chinese vases. But the operation of his esthetic taste being unreliable, he had struck up an intimacy with Claude’s father soon after he discovered this gentleman to be a thoroughly dependable guide. In time, he became a regular patron of the Fontaine galleries and his purchases of diamonds, necklaces and porcelains had contributed appreciably to Mr. Fontaine’s fortune. Janet’s curiosity in respect of worldly matters was much more quickly satisfied than her curiosity in respect of people. "Is Mr. Armstrong’s daughter as charming as she looks?" she asked Claude at the end of his explanation. "Well, most men think so," said Claude, smiling. "Marjorie is undoubtedly very beautiful and fully conscious of the fact. You may have seen her portrait by Ben Ali Haggin in the last Academy exhibition? It was a tone poem in russet brown, quite the stir of the season." "Oh, I’m sorry I missed it. I’ve never been to an Academy exhibition, Claude." "How amazing! Not even to one?" "Not even to one. Imagine how hopelessly ignorant I am of art!" "Art! People don’t go to the Academy in quest of art, you dear innocent. It would be a waste of effort. They go as a compliment to their friends whose portraits have been painted, not as a tribute to the men who painted them." But Janet was not to be deflected from her purpose. "I played the spy whilst your back was turned," she said, "and watched your pretty friend closely. She was evidently displeased with you. What had you done?" "Absolutely nothing. That’s just Marjorie’s way when she can’t have all she wants—which seldom happens." "Then she wanted _you_?" "Yes, for some party or other. But I’m not going to leave you merely to gratify a passing whim of hers. Anyhow, it isn’t so much a case of wanting me to be with her, as of wanting me not to be with anybody else." "Rather dog-in-the-mangerish, isn’t it?" "Oh, all the tyrants of the earth are like that, especially the fascinating feminine tyrants," replied Claude, in an attempt to recapture his good spirits. But it was plain that his mood had radically changed. For the remainder of their stay he was preoccupied and his gayety was forced.