The tea was even noisier and gayer than the lunch had been. We had this flow of comment-on-nothing from London's Love, and a couple of songs from our Serio, and American tour reminiscences from our Lady Acrobat. Also a loud and giggling squabble between that lady and the Boy-Impersonator about which of them looked her real age. Also an exhibition of the blandishments of our Twentieth-Century Hebe, who sat on the turf next to the Honourable Jim. She was doing her utmost to flirt with him; putting her lazy blonde head on one side to cast languishing glances at him, invoking his pity for a midge-bite that she said she had discovered on her upper arm. "Look," she murmured, holding out the sculptured limb. "Does it show?" That softly curved, white-skinned, blue-veined and bare arm could have been his to hold for a nearer inspection of that imperceptible wound if he had chosen. I made sure he'd catch hold of it ... it would have been just like him to laugh and suggest kissing it to make it well. I'm sure that's what the "Breathing Statue Girl" meant him to do. They're just a pair of silly flirtatious Bohemians---- Rather to my surprise the Irishman merely gave a matter-of-fact little nod and returned in a practical tone of voice: "Yes; you've certainly got glorious arms of your own, Miss Marmora; pity to let 'em get sunburnt and midge-bitten. It'll show on the stage if you aren't careful. I'd keep my sleeves down if I were you----" "'And that's _that_!'" the Boy-Impersonator wound up with George Robey's tag. And in the midst of all the laughter and chatter no one seemed to notice that two of the party were absolutely silent and almost too absent-minded to drink their tea--namely, the American cousin and Miss Nellie Million, the heiress. I hardly dared to look at her. I thought I was in for a terrible flood of tears and misery as soon as we got home to the "Refuge." For evidently Mr. Hiram P. Jessop had been getting in quite a long talk with his cousin before tea, and I am sure he had explained to her just the sort of gay deceiver that her admired and Honourable Jim was! Oh, the disillusionment of that! To find out that he had made that dead set at knowing her from the beginning only because of her uncle's money! And that, so far from there having been any of that family friendship of which she was so proud, he had never set eyes on old Mr. Million! I was afraid she would be utterly heart-broken, shaken with sobs over the perfidy of that handsome impostor whom she must always love.... How little I knew her kind! I was undeceived on the way home to the "Refuge." Miss Million clutched me by the arm, holding me back until every other member of the party, those who walked, those who rode on donkeys, and those who motored, had got well ahead. "I'm walking back alone with you, Smith," she announced firmly. "Let all of them get on, Hiram and Vi and all. I want to speak to you. I'm fair bursting to have a talk about all this."