disturbed his balance. He gazed ardently at her in the hope that she
would look round, but it was only the man--he was caressing his slight
moustache and hitting at loose stones while the girls talked--who
turned, as if drawn by Maurice's stare, and looked full at him, with
studied insolence. In him, Maurice recognised the violinist of the
concert, but he, too, was taller than he had believed, and much
younger. A mere boy, said Maurice to himself; a mere boy, with a
disagreeable dissipated face.

Madeleine Wade came hurrying to rejoin him, apologising for the delay;
the meeting had, however, been fortunate, as she had had a message
from Schwarz to deliver. Maurice let a few seconds elapse, then asked
without preamble: "Who is that?"

His companion looked quickly at him, struck both by his tone and by
his unconscious use of the singular. The air of indifference with
which he was looking out across the meadowland, told its own tale.

"Schilsky? Don't you know Schilsky? Our Joachim IN SPE?" she asked, to
tease him.

Maurice Guest coloured. "Yes, I heard him play the other night," he
answered in good faith. "But I didn't mean him. I meant the--the lady
he was with."

The girl at his side laughed, not very heartily.

"ET TU, BRUTE!" she said. "I might have known it. It really is
remarkable that though so many people don't think Louise goodlooking--I
have often heard her called plain--yet I never knew a man go past her