friend of yours?"

Wrayson shook his head.

"I do not think that any man could call himself Heneage's particular
friend," he answered. "He is exceedingly reticent about himself and his
doings. He is a man whom none of us know much of."

The Baroness leaned a little forward.

"Mr. Heneage," she said slowly, "is associated in my mind with days and
events which, just at present, both Louise and I are only anxious to
forget. He may be everything that he should be. Perhaps I am
prejudiced. But if I were you, I would have as little to do as possible
with that man."

"We do not often meet," Wrayson answered, "and ours is only a club
acquaintanceship. It is never likely to be more."

"So much the better," the Baroness declared. "Don't you agree with
me, Louise?"

"I do not like Mr. Heneage," the girl answered. "But then, I have never
spoken a dozen words to him in my life."

"You have known him intimately?" Wrayson asked the Baroness.

She shrugged her shoulders and looked out of the window.

"Never that, quite," she answered. "I know enough of him, however, to be