d so that the
parlour-maid, who was handing the cigarettes, should not hear; Miss Van
Vluyck's face took on a nauseated expression, and Mrs. Plinth looked as
if she were passing some one she did not care to bow to. But the most
remarkable result of Mrs. Roby's words was the effect they produced on
the Lunch Club's distinguished guest. Osric Dane's impassive features
suddenly softened to an expression of the warmest human sympathy, and
edging her chair toward Mrs. Roby's she asked: "Did he really? And--did
you find he was right?"

Mrs. Ballinger, in whom annoyance at Mrs. Roby's unwonted assumption
of prominence was beginning to displace gratitude for the aid she had
rendered, could not consent to her being allowed, by such dubious means,
to monopolise the attention of their guest. If Osric Dane had not enough
self-respect to resent Mrs. Roby's flippancy, at least the Lunch Club
would do so in the person of its President.

Mrs. Ballinger laid her hand on Mrs. Roby's arm. "We must not forget,"
she said with a frigid amiability, "that absorbing as Xingu is to _us_,
it may be less interesting to--"

"Oh, no, on the contrary, I assure you," Osric Dane intervened.

"--to others," Mrs. Ballinger finished firmly; "and we must not allow
our little meeting to end without persuading Mrs. Dane to say a few
words to us on a subject which, to-day, is much more present in all our
thoughts. I refer, of course, to 'The Wings of Death.'"

The other members, animated by various degrees of the same sentiment,
and encouraged by the humanised mien of their redoubtable guest,
repeated after Mrs. Ballinger: "Oh, yes, you really _must_ talk to us a
little about your book."

Osric Dane's expression became as bored, though not as haughty, as when
her work had been previously mentioned. But before she could respond
to Mrs. Ballinger's request, Mrs. Roby had risen from her seat, and was
pulling down her veil over her frivolous nose.

"I'm so sorry," she said, advancing toward her hostess with outstretched
hand, "but before Mrs. Dane begins I think I'd better run away.
Unluckily, as you know, I haven't read her books, so I should be at a
terrible disadvantage among you all, and besides, I've an engagement to
play bridge."

If Mrs. Roby had simply pleaded her ignorance of Osric Dane's works as
a reason for withdrawing, the Lunch Club, in view of her recent prowess,
might have approved such evidence of discretion; but to couple this
excuse w