He did not reply, but looked down at her from his superior height, one hand grasping his hat and stick, the other on his hip. There was a tiny pause. So Lady Phayre looked up at him and smiled. There was just the faintest gleam of mockery in her eyes, a transient consciousness of the feminine magic that had made the huge, powerful man do her bidding with the lightness of an Ariel. She put out a delicately gloved hand from her sealskin muff. “I was saving up a quarrel with you, Mr. Goddard,” she said, “for not having been to see me. Surely you could have spared just one half-hour.” There was so much frankness and charm in her tone and in her attitude, as she stood with half-extended hand, and head slightly inclined to one side, that Goddard reddened with a sense of boorishness. “I am hardly a society man, Lady Phayre,” he said lamely, his pride not allowing him to formulate the more conventional apology. She laughed. She had known men positively intrigue for the right of entrance at her door, and here was one refusing the privilege. He was a curiosity. Her self-pride was pricked. “You mean my frivolity frightens you,” she said. “But I am not as frivolous as I look, I assure you. I can talk even earnestly at times.” “Oh, it isn’t you,” he began. “Then it is my friends. Well, some of them are as unbutterfly-like as bats. But if you don’t like a crowd, avoid an ‘at home’ day, and come any afternoon.” “Do you honestly care whether I come or not?” asked Goddard bluntly. “Well, considering that I have gone out of my way to ask you twice,” she replied, rather staggered, “you might have taken my sincerity for granted.” She raised her chin a little, and put back her hand into her muff. Goddard realised that he had been rude. The desirable aspects of Lady Phayre’s friendship also began to dawn upon him. “Forgive me, Lady Phayre,” he said, after an awkward pause. “You see what a bear I am.” The admission brought out again smile and hand. “Can I come and see you?” he added whimsically. “Do you honestly want to?” she asked, echoing his tone. “I should very much like to, indeed,” said Goddard. ***** That evening, Lady Phayre sent down her card, from behind the grating, to Aloysius Gleam. He came up after a while. “I didn’t know you were here,” he said. “Who do you think got me the tickets?” “I haven’t the vaguest idea.” “Mr. Goddard,” said Lady Phayre. “Miss Mabel,” said Gleam, turning to the country girl, who was listening to a technical statement by the War Secretary with rapt attention, “Lady Phayre is like Providence: her ways are inscrutable.” CHAPTER VII--A DEMAGOGUE’S IDYLL Goddard went away, after paying his first visit to Lady Phayre, with a wondering mind. His original intention had been to make it as short as he possibly could: he had remained nearly a couple of hours. He could scarcely believe his watch.