Mr. Bry, letting his eyeglass fall, looked abstracted and lent an attentive ear. If he were not playing prompter to social comedies he generally stood in the wings, watching and listening to them with a cold amusement that was seldom devoid of a spice of venom. “Tell you what, Fritz?” “That Miss Schley was comin’ to-night. Everyone’s talking about her. I sat next Laycock at dinner and he was ravin’. Told me she was to be here and I didn’t know it. Rather ridiculous, you know. Where is she?” “Somewhere in the rooms.” “What’s she like?” “Oh!--I don’t know. She’s in black. Go and look for her.” Lord Holme strode on. As he passed Mr. Bry he said: “I say, Bry, d’you know Miss Pimpernel Schley?” “Naturally.” “Come with me, there’s a good chap, and--what’s she like?” As they went on into the drawing-rooms Mr. Bry dropped out: “Some people say she’s like Lady Holme.” “Like Vi! Is she? Laycock’s been simply ravin’--simply ravin’--and Laycock’s not a feller to--where is she? “We shall come to her. So there was no gee-gee to look at in the country to-night?” Lord Holme burst into a roar of laughter. “There’s the vestal tending her lamp,” said Mr. Bry a moment later. “The what up to what?” “Miss Pimpernel Schley keeping the fire of adoration carefully alight.” “Where?” “There.” “Oh, I see! Jove, what a skin, though! Eh! Isn’t it? She is deuced like Vi at a distance. Vi looks up just like that when she’s singin’. Doesn’t she, though? Eh?” He went on towards her. Mr. Bry followed him, murmuring. “The giant refreshed with wine. No gee-gee to-night. No gee-gee.” CHAPTER VIII “THE brougham is at the door, my lady.” “Tell his lordship.” The butler went out, and Lady Holme’s maid put a long black cloak carefully over her mistress’s shoulders. While she did this Lady Holme stood quite still gazing into vacancy. They were in the now deserted yellow drawing-room, which was still brilliantly lit, and full of the already weary-looking flowers which had been arranged for the reception. The last guest had gone and the carriage was waiting to take the Holmes to Arkell House. The maid did something to the diamonds in Lady Holme’s hair with deft fingers, and the light touch seemed to wake Lady Holme from a reverie. She went to a mirror and looked into it steadily. The maid stood behind. After a moment Lady Holme lifted her hand suddenly to her head, as if she were going to take off her tiara. The maid could not repress a slight movement of startled astonishment. Lady Holme saw it in the glass, dropped her hand, and said: “C’est tout, Josephine. Vous pouvez vous en aller.” “Merci, miladi.” She went out quietly. Two or three minutes passed. Then Lord Holme’s deep bass voice was audible, humming vigorously: