Bramfell pursed up his lips. “She has a very beautiful tent at the end of the conservatory. It took five men as many days to rig it up. We couldn't hear ourselves talk, for hammering. My wife said it made her feel quite philanthropic, it reminded her so much of a charity bazaar.” Everybody laughed; and at the same moment Blessington came quickly across the room and joined the group. “Hallo!” he said. “Anybody seen Witcheston? He's next on my list for the crystal business.” Again the whole party laughed, and Bramfell, stepping forward, touched Blessington's arm in mock seriousness. “Witcheston is playing bridge, like a sensible man,” he said. “Leave him in peace, Bobby.” Blessington made a comical grimace. “But I'm working this on commercial principles,” he said. “I keep the list, names and hours complete, and Lady Astrupp gazes, in blissful ignorance as to who her victims are. The whole thing is great--simple and statistical.” “For goodness' sake, Bobby, shut up!” Bramfell's round eyes were twinkling with amusement. “But my system--” “Systems! Ah, we all had them when we were as young as you are!” “And they all had flaws, Bobby,” Eve broke in. “We were always finding gaps that had to be filled up. Never mind about Lord Witcheston. Get a substitute; it won't count--if Lillian doesn't know.” Blessington wavered as she spoke. His eyes wandered round the party and again rested on Bramfell. “Not me, Bobby! Remember, I've breathed crystals--practically lived on them--for the last week. Now, there's Chilcote--” Again his eyes twinkled. All eyes were turned on Loder, though one or two strayed surreptitiously to Eve. She, seeming sensitive to the position, laughed quickly. “A very good idea!” she said. “Who wants to see the future, if not a politician?” Loder glanced from her to Blessington. Then, with a very feminine impulse, she settled the matter beyond dispute. “Please use your authority, Bobby,” she said. “And when you've got him safely under canvas, come back to me. It's years since we've had a talk.” She nodded and smiled, then instantly turned to Bramfell with some trivial remark. For a second Loder waited, then with a movement of resignation he laid his hand on Blessington's arm. “Very well!” he said. “But if my fate is black, witness it was my wife who sent me to it.” His faint pause on the word wife, the mention of the word itself in the presence of these people, had a savor of recklessness. The small discomfiture of his earlier slip vanished before it; he experienced a strong reaction of confidence in his luck. With a cool head, a steady step, and a friendly pressure of the fingers on Blessington's arm, he allowed himself to be drawn across the reception-rooms, through the long corridors, and down the broad flight of steps that led to the conservatory.