"But I'm wonderfully little tired!" she continued. "It all went so splendidly, without a single hitch. Mr. Crayford must be enchanted. I only saw him for a moment coming out after I had congratulated Miss Mardon. There were so many people. There was no time to hear all he thought. But there could not be two opinions. Claudie, do you feel quite finished?" "No," said Claude, in a strong voice, which broke in almost strangely upon her lively chattering. Both Charmian and Alston looked at him for an instant with a sort of inquiry, which in Charmian was almost furtive. "That's good!" Charmian began, after a little pause. "I was almost afraid--here's the champagne! We ought to drink a toast to-night, I think. Suppose we--" "We'll drink to Alston's career," interrupted Claude. And he lifted his glass. "Alston!" said Charmian, swiftly following his example. "And now no more toasts for the present. They seem too formal when only we three are together. And we know what we wish each other without them. Oyster soup! You see, I remembered what you are fond of, Claudie. I recollect ages ago in London I once met Mr. Whistler. It was when I was very small. He came to lunch with Madre. By the way, Claude, did you take Madre's cablegram with you when you went to answer your call?" "Yes." "I thought you had, because I couldn't find it. Well Mr. Whistler came to lunch with us, Alston. And he talked about nothing but oysters." "Was he painting them at the time? A nocturne of natives?" "How absurd you are! But he knew everything that could be known about Blue Points--" She ran on vivaciously. Alston seconded her, when she gave him an opportunity. Claude listened, sometimes smiled, spoke when there seemed to be any necessity for a word from him. Alston was hungry after his exertions, and ate heartily. Charmian pretended to eat and sipped her champagne. On each of her cheeks an almost livid spot of red glowed. Her eyes, which looked more sunken than usual in her head, were full of intense life, as they glanced perpetually from one man to the other with a ceaseless watchfulness. She pressed Claude to eat, even helped him herself from the dishes. The clock had just struck a quarter-past one when a buzzing sound outside indicated the presence of someone at the door of the lobby. Charmian moved uneasily. "Who can it be so late? Perhaps it's Mr. Crayford." She got up. "I'll go and see what it is," said Claude. He went out. Charmian stood, watching the door. "D'you think it's Mr. Crayford?" she asked of Alston Lake. "Hardly!" "What is it, Claude?" "A note or letter." "A letter! Whom can it be from! Has it only come now?" "Apparently." "Do read it. But have you finished?" "Quite. I couldn't eat anything more."