why you are here?"

"I came to see you," he replied humbly--"thought perhaps you wouldn't
mind," and in his confusion he let his knife fall into the mutton,
whence it rebounded, staining his shirt front.

Barbara laughed, that happy, delightful little laugh of hers, presumably
at the accident with the knife. Whether or no she "minded" did not
appear, only she handed her handkerchief, a costly, last-fringed trifle,
to Alan to wipe the gravy off his shirt, which he took thinking it was
a napkin, and as she did so, touched his hand with a little caressing
movement of her fingers. Whether this was done by chance or on purpose
did not appear either. At least it made Alan feel extremely happy. Also
when he discovered what it was, he kept that gravy-stained handkerchief,
nor did she ever ask for it back again. Only once in after days when she
happened to come across it stuffed away in the corner of a despatch-box,
she blushed all over, and said that she had no idea that any man could
be so foolish out of a book.

"Now that _you_ are really clear of it, I am going for them," she said
presently when the wiping process was finished. "I have only restrained
myself for your sake," and leaning back in her chair she stared at the
ceiling, lost in meditation.

Presently there came one of those silences which will fall upon
dinner-parties at times, however excellent and plentiful the champagne.

"Sir Robert Aylward," said Barbara in that clear, carrying voice of
hers, "will you, as an expert, instruct a very ignorant person? I want a
little information."