Flushed and boyish he stood before them, and his annoyance was
increased by their failure to conceal the fact that his appearance was
embarrassing if not unwelcome. Mrs. Monte Irvin was a petite, pretty
woman, although some of the more wonderful bronzed tints of her hair
suggested the employment of henna, and her naturally lovely complexion
was delicately and artistically enhanced by art. Nevertheless, the
flower-like face peeping out from the folds of a gauzy scarf, like a
rose from a mist, whilst her soft little chin nestled into the fur,
might have explained even in the case of an older man the infatuation
which Quentin Gray was at no pains to hide.

She glanced up at her companion, Sir Lucien Pyne, a swarthy, cynical
type of aristocrat, imperturbably. Then: "I had left a note for you,
Quentin," she said hurriedly. She seemed to be in a dangerously
high-strung condition.

"But I have booked a table and a box," cried Gray, with a hint of
juvenile petulance.

"My dear Gray," said Sir Lucien coolly, "we are men of the world--and
we do not look for consistency in womenfolk. Mrs. Irvin has decided to
consult a palmist or a hypnotist or some such occult authority before
dining with you this evening. Doubtless she seeks to learn if the play
to which you propose to take her is an amusing one."

His smile of sardonic amusement Gray found to be almost insupportable,
and although Sir Lucien refrained from looking at Mrs. Irvin whilst he
spoke, it was evident enough that his words held some covert
significance, for: