"Well off?" I inquired, with affected carelessness. "Very comfortably, I should say. Mrs Anson has a fortune of her own, I believe. They have a house at present in The Boltons." "Mabel is extremely good-looking," I remarked. "Of course, my dear boy," laughed the Colonel, with his liqueur-glass poised in his hand, a twinkle in his eye. "Between us, she's the prettiest girl in London. She creates a sensation wherever she goes, for beauty like hers isn't met with twice in a lifetime. Lucky chap, whoever marries her." "Yes," I said reflectively, and then diligently pursued the topic in an endeavour to learn further details regarding her. My host either knew very little, or purposely affected ignorance--which, I was unable to determine. He had known her father intimately, having been in his regiment long ago. That was about all I learnt further. So we tossed away our cigars, drained our glasses, and rejoined the four ladies who were awaiting us in the drawing-room, where later, at Mrs Channing's urgent persuasion, my divinity in blue seated herself at the piano, and in a sweet, clear contralto sang in Italian a charming solo from Puccini's _Boheme_, the notable opera of that season. Then, with the single diamond glittering at her throat, she came back to where I stood, and sinking into the cosy-corner with its pretty hangings of yellow silk, she accepted my congratulations with a delicate grace, a charming dignity, and a grateful smile. At last, however, the hour of parting came, and reluctantly--very reluctantly--I took her small hand, bent over it, and handed her into her carriage beside her mother. "Good-night," she cried merrily, and next instant the fine pair of bays plunged away into the rainy night. I returned into the hall, and my host helped me into my overcoat. We were alone, for I had made my adieux to his wife and daughters. "Wilford," he said very gravely, as he gripped my hand prior to my departure, "we are old friends. Will you permit me to say one word without taking offence at it?" "Certainly," I answered, surprised. "What is it?" "I've noticed to-night that, like many another man, you are entranced by the beauty of Mabel Anson. Be careful not to make a fool of yourself." "I don't understand," I said quickly. "Well, all I would say is, that if you desire happiness and peace of mind, steel your heart against her," he answered with a distinct air of mystery. "You speak in enigmas." "I merely give you a timely warning, that's all, my dear fellow. Now, don't be offended, but go home and think it over, and resolve never again to see her--never, you understand--never." CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE FOURTEENTH OF OCTOBER.