admission of slumbering passion; and her voice was abrupt. He almost
cried out '_Legato, legato_,' to coax back the lilt which had caressed
his ear a moment before.

He was dimly conscious that dinner was announced, and that amidst a
babel of tongues he was being led by, or was leading, Lady Durwent into
the dining-room. He heard the resolutionist and Dunckley both talking
at once, and felt the melancholy languor of Pyford floating like
incense through the air. He had an obscure recollection of sitting
down next to his hostess; that the table, like Arthur's, was a round
one; that Johnston Smyth was seated beside Miss Durwent and was ogling
one of Lady Durwent's maids. Then he remembered that he had heard some
voice in his ear for several minutes past, and, growing curious, took a
surreptitious glance, to find that it belonged to Madame Carlotti.

'Meester Selwyn,' she said indignantly, 'you have not been listening to
me.'

'That is true, signora,' he said; 'but I have been thinking of you.'

'Yes?' she purred, leaning towards him. 'What did you thought?'

He turned squarely to her in an impassioned counterfeit of frankness.
'Are all Italian women beautiful?' he murmured.

'Hush-sh!' Her hand touched his beneath the table, reprovingly and
tenderly.

'Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, 'you have not tasted your soup.'