“Well, I tell you, Clancey, old chap, as a rule I am quite ready to introduce my friends to any lady I know, but in this particular case it is not quite the same. You see, the fact is--the last time I introduced a friend of mine the result was--well, it was not exactly what I bargained for.” “What do you mean?” asked Clancey. “What I mean is that I introduced Alistair Ramsey to her in Paris, with the result that I have never seen her since until yesterday.” Clancey did not immediately reply, but a curious expression overspread his face. “Alistair Ramsey,” he murmured, and then again, “Alistair Ramsey, dear me!” Bobby looked at him wonderingly. Clancey laughed lightly. “That reminds me,” he said. “I inquired about your commission at the War Office. You know, I suppose, that Alistair Ramsey is private secretary to Sir Archibald Fellowes. Old Fellowes decides upon all commissions, and your charming friend, Mr. Ramsey, informed him you were not a fit person to wear his Majesty’s uniform.” Bobby stared. “The dirty dog!” he exclaimed. “Well, I’m damned! That at the last, after everything!” “Yes, just that,” remarked Clancey. “So you introduced him to Madame de Corantin?” “Not because I wanted to,” replied Bobby. “And she has been with him ever since?” “Oh, I don’t know that.” “But she was with him last night at the Savoy?” “Yes. Damn him! I must be off now. Clancey, really, I’m awfully obliged to you.” “Well, may I come to Claridge’s tomorrow? I promise I won’t cut you out--I only want to make her acquaintance. She must be such a charming woman.” “All right. Look in after lunch,” Bobby answered, and, seizing the huge parcel which contained his flowers, he led the way out of the room and thence out of the flat to the cab which was waiting for him. Had Bobby looked out of the window of that cab he would have been surprised. Clancey was running down the street towards Piccadilly as fast as his legs could carry him. * * * * * Another shock was in store for poor Bobby. Jumping out of his taxi, he presented himself to the hall-porter, armed with his huge paper parcel from the florist. “For Madame de Corantin,” he said. The porter looked at him; he knew him well and accepted the offering hesitatingly. “For Madame de Corantin, you said, sir?” “Yes,” said Bobby. “Madame de Corantin left early this afternoon, Mr. Froelich.” For a moment Bobby was speechless. “Left?” he gasped. “Are you sure?” “I’m perfectly certain, sir.” “But surely she is coming back again, isn’t she? Why, I’m lunching with her to-morrow.” The porter looked at him in surprise. “Take a seat for a moment, sir, and I’ll go and inquire, though to the best of my belief she took all her luggage with her.” In a moment the man came back. “Yes, sir, she and her maid and all her luggage left about two o’clock. There were two cars; one was brought by a gentleman.” Bobby pulled himself together.