unpleasantness, the day had provided that appalling situation at the
Albany, the recollection of which still made him tingle; and there
had followed the silent dinner, the boredom of the early part of the
play, the fire at the theatre, the undignified scramble for the
exits, and now this discovery of the girl whom he was engaged to
marry supping at the Savoy with a fellow he didn't remember ever
having seen in his life. All these things combined to induce in Derek
a mood bordering on ferocity. His birth and income, combining to make
him one of the spoiled children of the world, had fitted him ill for
such a series of catastrophes.

Breeding counts. Had he belonged to a lower order of society, Derek
would probably have seized Jill by the throat and started to choke
her. Being what he was, he merely received her with frozen silence
and led her out to the waiting taxi-cab. It was only when the cab had
started on its journey that he found relief in speech.

"Well," he said, mastering with difficulty an inclination to raise
his voice to a shout, "perhaps you will kindly explain?"

Jill had sunk back against the cushions of the cab. The touch of his
body against hers always gave her a thrill, half pleasurable, half
frightening. She had never met anybody who affected her in this way
as Derek did. She moved a little closer, and felt for his hand. But,
as she touched it, it retreated--coldly. Her heart sank. It was like
being cut in public by somebody very dignified.

"Derek, darling!" Her lips trembled. Others had seen this side of
Derek Underhill frequently, for he was a man who believed in keeping
the world in its place, but she never. To her he had always been the