People were already going in to supper when the Holmes arrived. The Duke, upon whom a painful malady was beginning to creep, was bravely welcoming his innumerable guests. He found it already impossible to go unaided up and down stairs, and sat in a large armchair close to the ball-room, with one of his pretty daughters near him, talking brightly, and occasionally stealing wistful glances at the dancers, who were visible through a high archway to his left. He was a thin, middle-aged man, with a curious, transparent look in his face--something crystalline that was nearly beautiful. The Duchess was swarthy and masterful, very intelligent and _grande dame_. Vivacity was easy to her. People said she had been a good hostess in her cradle, and that she had presided over the ceremony of her own baptism in a most autocratic and successful manner. It was quite likely. After a word with the Duke, Lady Holme went slowly towards the ballroom with her husband. She did not mean to dance, and began to refuse the requests of would-be partners with charming protestations of fatigue. Lord Holme was scanning the ballroom with his big brown eyes. “Are you going to dance, Fritz?” asked Lady Holme, nodding to Robin Pierce, whom she had just seen standing at a little distance with Rupert Carey. The latter had not seen her yet, but as Robin returned her nod he looked hastily round. “Yes, I promised Miss Schley to struggle through a waltz with her. Wonder if she’s dancin’?” Lady Holme bowed, a little ostentatiously, to Rupert Carey. Her husband saw it and began at once to look pugilistic. He could not say anything, for at this moment two or three men strolled up to speak to Lady Holme. While she was talking to them, Pimpernel Schley came in sight waltzing with Mr. Laycock, one of those abnormally thin, narrow-featured, smart men, with bold, inexpressive ayes, in whom London abounds. Lord Holme’s under-jaw resumed its natural position, and he walked away and was lost in the crowd, following the two dancers. “Take me in to supper, Robin. I’m tired.” “This way. I thought you were never coming.” “People stayed so late. I can’t think why. I’m sure it was dreadfully dull and foolish. How odd Mr. Carey’s looking! When I bowed to him just now he didn’t return it, but only stared at me as if I were a stranger.” Robin Pierce made no rejoinder. They descended the great staircase and went towards the picture-gallery. “Find a corner where we can really talk.” “Yes, yes.” He spoke eagerly. “Here--this is perfect.” They sat down at a table for two that was placed in an angle of the great room. Upon the walls above them looked down a Murillo and a Velasquez. Lady Holme was under the Murillo, which represented three Spanish street boys playing a game in the dust with pieces of money. “A table for two,” said Robin Pierce. “I have always said that the Duchess understands the art of entertaining better than anyone in London, except you--when you choose.”