"But I can't," she declares, half-crying. "What will Giddy think of me? What will she say?" "Shall I speak to her for you?" "Oh! if you only would." Philip is still talking outside in the passage to Mr. Eccott. Carol rises, leans over the back of Mrs. Mounteagle's chair whispering hurriedly: "Philip Roche is here. I don't want him to see his wife with me. Take her under your wing. I will make it worth your while." Giddy takes the cue instantly. Such compromising situations are not new to her. She is a Machiavelli in petticoats. "Here, Bertie," she says, "slip into Eleanor's chair, and stop at that table with Mr. Quinton." She turns, smiles benignly upon Mrs. Roche, and motions her to take the empty seat. "There, my dear," she murmurs, as Eleanor, confused and ashamed, obeys. "Let bygones be bygones, you are with me to-day. I brought you up to town." "No, you met me by chance at Madame Faustine's, and we came on here together. Oh! Giddy, how good you are." "A friend in need, eh? Finish Bertie's fruit salad. Good gracious, you are drinking whiskey and soda. Pass me his glass, it won't matter for me." Eleanor hands it over with trembling fingers. Philip is well in the room now, and any moment may see them. "Would it not look well to attract his attention; sign to him. He is bound to spot you in a minute. Here is the waiter, we will send him. Waiter! go and ask that tall gentleman to come here. Say two ladies wish to speak to him." Mr. Roche advances in surprise. He is vastly annoyed to find his wife again in company with Mrs. Mounteagle. "You did not expect to see me, Philip," she says, assuming an air of gaiety to cover her confusion. "I discovered your wife at our mutual costumier's in Bond Street," cries Giddy. "I know she always starves herself when shopping alone in town, so persuaded her to make a good lunch with me. I have known her to exist a whole day on prawns and ices, or Bath buns with lemonade. So you owe me a debt of gratitude, Mr. Roche. We are lucky in having ran across you, and two other friends," as Philip's eyes fall on Carol Quinton and the insipid Bertie. "We are simply gobbling our food whole, as we are going to the International Fur Store. I want to try and get a muff of leopard's skin to match my cape, for which, alas! I have still to write a cheque. But we are keeping you standing, and Mr. Eccott is waiting for his guest." "Don't be late home, Eleanor," he says, "it gets very cold and foggy, and you still have a cough." The two women watch him move away, then their eyes meet. "You are a brick, Giddy," gasps Mrs. Roche, squeezing her hand under the table. "What makes you so splendidly loyal to me?" "Life is so short, dear, it is well to be kind when we can. Besides, I am very fond of you though we did quarrel. I think it will draw us closer together." "I shall never forget what you have done for me to-day."