Dare looked expectantly towards the platform as they came on. There were nine of them, men and women; the ninth being the accompanist. She walked on behind the others, and went straight to the piano, a tall, striking-looking figure, clad in blue and silver which scintillated a cold brilliance where the lights caught the filmy draperies. It was Blanche Maitland. The calm, unsmiling face, set off by the stage finery, and crowned with the dark glossy hair, aglitter with sham diamonds, looked handsomer than he had ever seen it; but there was something repellant, he thought, in its cold, unyielding beauty, something unyouthful in her air of composed aloofness. She moved and acted like some handsome automaton. Not once did he observe her smile, or display interest in what she was doing. She was wonderfully inanimate. And yet her performance at the piano was extraordinarily skilful, far and away above he ordinary run of talent heard at these entertainments. One felt one wanted to hear her in something worthier of her gifts. Dare kept his seat until the performance came to an end; then he made his way behind, and sent his card in to her. He was not admitted to the dressing-rooms; but she came out and interviewed him in the passage, to the curious interest of one or two people who loitered there. She was manifestly surprised to see him, and pretended to have forgotten his name, and when and where they had met. He recalled the circumstances to her. "It was so long ago," she said; "I had forgotten." "I don't call that kind," he returned. "You see, I didn't forget I saw you in Johannesburg last month." "Yes!" She looked at him with increased interest. "We were there, of course. We have been to several places since. We are working down towards the coast." "It is a change for you, this life," he said. "Do you find it agreeable?" "Oh! I don't know. It amused me at first. But I leave them at the coast. I came in as a stop-gap because their regular accompanist was ill." Her voice sounded a little weary, her face, too, underneath the rouge, looked tired. "I'd like to call on you to-morrow, if I may," he said, and paused expectantly. She hesitated, regarding him with vague suspicion in her eyes. Then she mentioned the boarding establishment at which they were staying, and gave a reluctant permission. It was not a fashionable hostelry; presumably the "Exotics" were not flourishing in respect to funds. "We might go for a drive," he suggested, "if you care about it." She acquiesced, but without enthusiasm. It occurred to Dare that her manner was a little distrustful. He smiled encouragingly. "That's kind of you," he observed. "I'm at loose ends in this place. Then I'll be round about three, if that suits."