mansion, with stone dressings, and the massive grandeur of an Egyptian
mausoleum.

Lord Denyer was an important personage in the political and diplomatic
world. He had been ambassador at Constantinople and at Paris, and had
now retired on his laurels, an influence still, but no longer an active
power in the machine of government. At his house gathered all that was
most brilliant in London society. To be seen at Lady Denyer's, evening
parties was the guinea stamp of social distinction; to dine with Lord
Denyer was an opening in life, almost as valuable as University honours,
and more difficult of attainment.

It was during the quarter of an hour before dinner that a group of
persons, mostly personages, congregated round Lord Denyer's
chimney-piece, naturally trending towards the social hearth, albeit it
was the season for roses and lilies rather than of fires, and the hum of
the city was floating in upon the breath of the warm June evening
through the five tall windows which opened upon Lord Denyer's balcony.

The ten or twelve persons assembled seemed only a sprinkling in the large
lofty room, furnished sparsely with amber satin sofas, a pair of Florentine
marble tables, and half an acre or so of looking glass. Voluminous amber
draperies shrouded the windows, and deadened the sound of rolling wheels,
and the voices and footfalls of western London. The drawing rooms of those
days were neither artistic nor picturesque--neither Early English nor Low
Dutch, nor Renaissance, nor Anglo-Japanese. A stately commonplace
distinguished the reception rooms of the great world. Upholstery stagnated
at a dead level of fluted legs, gilding, plate glass, and amber satin.

Lady Denyer stood a little way in advance of the group on the hearthrug,