without doubt."

"He belongs to my club," Wrayson answered. "His name is Heneage. I beg
your pardon! I hope that wasn't my fault."

The Baroness had dropped her lorgnettes on the floor. She stooped
instantly to discover them, rejecting almost peremptorily Wrayson's aid.
When she sat up again she pushed her chair a little further back.

"It was my clumsiness entirely," she declared. "Ah! it is more restful
here. The lights are a little trying in front. You are wiser than I, my
dear Louise, to have chosen a seat back there."

She turned towards the girl as she spoke, and Wrayson fancied that there
was some subtle meaning in the swift glance which passed between the two.
Almost involuntarily he leaned forward once more and looked downwards.
Heneage's inscrutable face was still upturned in their direction. There
was nothing to be read there, not even curiosity. As the eyes of the two
men met, Heneage rose and left his seat.

"You know my friend, perhaps?" Wrayson remarked. "He is rather an
interesting person."

The Baroness shrugged her shoulders.

"We are cosmopolitans, Louise and I," she remarked. "We wander about so
much that we meet many people whose names even we do not remember. Is it
not so, _cherie_?"

Louise assented carelessly. The incident appeared to have interested her