of unfashionable connections) not to own to them more than she could help. He withdrew from their neighbourhood before they saw him, and went to seek his hostess, swelling with remonstrant wrath. He found her on a sofa at the other end of the room, talking volubly (she was always voluble, but now she was breathless in her volubility) to a lady who had never before honoured her Fridays, and who, by doing so to-night, had gratified an ambition that had long been paramount amongst the many ambitions which, enclosed in a narrow circle as they were, served to make the interest and occupation of Mrs. Aarons's life. She looked up at Paul as he approached her, and gave him a quick nod and smile, as if to say, "I see you, but you must be perfectly aware that I am unable to attend to you just now." Paul understood her, and, not having the honour of Mrs. Duff-Scott's acquaintance himself, fell back a little behind the sofa and waited for his opportunity. As he waited, he could not help overhearing the conversation of the two ladies, and deriving a little cynical amusement therefrom. "And, as soon as I heard of it, I _begged_ my husband to go and see if it was _really_ a genuine example of Derby-Chelsea; and, you see, it _was_," said Mrs. Aarons, with subdued enthusiasm--almost with tears of emotion. "It was, indeed," assented Mrs. Duff-Scott earnestly. "There was the true mark--the capital D, with the anchor in the middle of it. It is extremely rare, and I had no hope of ever possessing a specimen." "I _knew_ you would like to have it. I said to Ben. '_Do_ go and snatch it up at once for Mrs. Duff-Scott's collection.' And he was so pleased to find he was in time. We were so afraid someone might have been before us. But the fact is, people are so ignorant that they have no idea of the value of things of that sort--fortunately." "I don't call it fortunate at all," the other lady retorted, a little brusquely. "I don't like to see people ignorant--I am quite ready to share and share." Then she added, with a smile, "I am sure I can never be sufficiently obliged to Mr. Aarons for taking so much trouble on my account. I must get him into a corner presently, and find out how much I am in his debt--though, of course, no money can represent the true worth of such a treasure, and I shall always feel that I have robbed him." "Oh, pray, pray don't talk of _payment_," the hostess implored, with a gesture of her heavily-ringed hands. "You will hurt him _dreadfully_ if you think of such a thing. He feels himself richly paid, I assure you, by having a chance to do you a little service. And such a mere _trifle_ as it is!" "No, indeed, it is not a trifle, Mrs. Aarons--very far from it. The thing is much too valuable for me to--to"--Mrs. Duff-Scott hesitated, and her face was rather red--"to deprive you of it in that way. I don't feel that I can take it as a present--a bit of _real_ Derby-Chelsea that you might never find a specimen of again--really I don't."