"Oh, yes, so lucky." Esmé listened to Helmsley's pattered explanation. "His cousin, Mrs Gore, etc. Very awkward. Out of Brighton. They had come here to wait for her." "Very awkward," said Esmé, drily. "Well, you must join us at dinner. You can't wait here--alone." A waiter padded noiselessly in. Dinner would be ready in ten minutes in Number Twenty-seven. They had procured the roses which Monsieur had ordered. It amused Esmé a little to watch Gore Helmsley fight back his anger, mask himself in a moment in a thin cloak of carelessness. He followed the waiter into the hall. "Sybil," said Esmé, sharply, "this is not wise, not right." "We came to meet a cousin," Sybil whimpered. "She never came. I had to come--I had to. And now he's angry." She shivered a little, half tearful, half frightened. "No, she would not come," said Esmé, drily; "but lie as I lie, my child, or there may be some pretty stories floating about London." "Oh! you've ordered dinner," she said to Angy, "and I've just found Miss Chauntsey. She was dining with Captain Helmsley's cousin, Mrs Gore. But she is putting her off and joining our party at the Metropole." Mr Beerhaven opened his mouth twice without emitting any particular sound. "She's just gone home, hasn't she, Sybil?" said Esmé. "Quite a pretty woman. Come along." Again Angy opened his mouth and shut it. It was not his part to say that he knew Mrs Gore to be in London. Angy was not altogether bad-hearted and he disliked Jimmie Gore Helmsley. "Rotten!" said Mr Beerhaven, speaking at last. "Eh?" said Esmé, sharply. "Rotten luck, y'know, on Mrs Gore, but so glad. We'd better drive back. And a rotten chap," said Angy, forcibly. "You're a brick, Mrs Carteret." This speech made Esmé understand that Angy Beerhaven was not as big a fool as he looked. In the cab Sybil leant back, frightened. She was afraid of Gore Helmsley's too-pleasant smile--afraid of the look in his eyes. Esmé had whispered a few swiftly-spoken words to him, directing that their lies should be alike. "It was exceedingly awkward," she said drily. Angy had ordered everything he could think of. They began on iced caviare and finished up with forced peaches. He was exceedingly rich, and a snare wrought of gold was the only one he knew of. Sybil was quiet through dinner, eating nothing, visibly unhappy. Afterwards, as they sat in the cool, smoking, Gore Helmsley slipped to her side. "Was there ever anything so unlucky?" he said. "It was--very unlucky," said Sybil, dully. "That woman hunting round for dinner, so she says. She's fairly decent, I fancy, won't blab. She lied brilliantly. It was so very awkward, and now Cissy will be quite disappointed. She 'phoned to say she was just starting to meet us. It was a lovely day together," he whispered. "Come to tea with me to-morrow, Sybil." "You promised me my letters," she shot out, her heart thumping, "and my I.O.U. Give them to me."