"It is a queer time and place in which to make introductions," he remarked genially. "But even in times of peril, one should preserve the usages of good society. I don't suppose you know the name of your gallant rescuer. Let me make you known, in a formal fashion. Mr Spencer--Miss Keane." The beautiful Stella bowed her dark head, and the ghost of a smile flitted over her still pale face. "I know Mr Spencer very well by sight. When I have recovered my wits, I will thank him properly and prettily. Perhaps he will come and see us at my cousin's flat." "I was bringing him on there to-night, as a matter of fact," explained Esmond. "But I presume all that is knocked on the head, even supposing we get out of this disgusting hole in reasonable time. Mrs L'Estrange won't be in a mood to receive visitors, after this disquieting experience, I am sure." "I am afraid you don't know Mrs L'Estrange," replied the girl, with a little mocking laugh. Her tones were not yet quite steady, but she was rapidly recovering herself. "The card-tables were laid before we started, and we intended to be back early. If we get out safely from this disgusting hole, as you call it, my cousin will resume her ordinary pursuits, as if nothing had occurred to disturb them." Desultory conversation, the irresponsible chatter of the drawing-room kind, was almost impossible under the circumstances. And although Miss Keane did her best to assume a brave front, it was easy to see that she was inwardly quivering. At every roar of the guns, she shivered all over, and her cheek alternately flushed and then grew deadly pale with her inward terror. "Poor child," whispered Spencer to his companion; "she must be a bundle of nerves. Every second, she is experiencing the pangs of death in anticipation. By the way, the gallant Desmond doesn't seem to have troubled himself much about her. If I hadn't taken her forcibly away, I believe she would be rooted to that chair now." Esmond shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, a chap like Desmond doesn't know the meaning of fear, and he can't understand the sensation in others. The other woman took possession of him, and dragged him away. No doubt, he thought she was following. Mrs L'Estrange, so far as I can judge, would never think of anything but number one." And as Spencer's glance stole to the fair face, he felt a strange feeling of pity for her. The poignant happenings of the last few moments had revealed to him her loneliness, the tragedy of her dependence upon others. In a supreme moment of peril, she, who ought to have lovers and friends by the score, was left by herself, and thrown upon the compassion of a stranger. An anxious half-hour passed, and then messengers came down with tidings of a reassuring nature. The raiders had been driven off, after inflicting considerable damage. Gay London was free to pursue its natural course of pleasure.