It was the fashionable hour in Sloane Street, when many well-dressed,
well-known people are often seen walking, and when the road is full of
private motors and carriages. Lorraine found herself moving still more
slowly. She was accustomed to being gazed at herself, had in fact
grown a little blasé of it, but the frank admiration bestowed on her
giant amused and pleased her.

Covertly she watched, as she chatted up to him, for the tell-tale
consciousness and perhaps heightened colour. But when he was looking
back into her face he looked straight before him, over the heads of the
admiring eyes, and paid no smallest heed to them. Neither was he in
the least self-conscious with her. She wondered if he even realised
that the tête-à-tête he accepted so simply would have been a joy of heaven to
many. Anyhow, far from resenting his seeming want of due appreciation,
she found it made him more interesting.

She spoke of Hal, and he immediately exclaimed: "Hal is a ripper, isn't
she? I can't help teasing her, you know; it's the best fun in the
world."

"Do you usually tease your feminine friends?" she asked. "I've no
doubt you have a great many."

"Oh, no, I haven't. Men pals are far jollier."

"Still, I expect your inches bring you many fair admirers."

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and looked a trifle bored, and she
divined that he disliked flattery and probably the subject of his