nner of
moving through the well-dressed crowd somewhat belied the tan of his
skin. Here was an out-of-door, athletic youth, who knew how to move in
drawing-rooms--a big man who did not look much too large for his
surroundings. It was evident that he did not know many people, and also
that he was indifferent to his loss. He had come to see Mrs. Sydney
Bamborough, and that lady was not insensible to the fact.

To prove this she diverged from the path of veracity, as is the way of
some women.

"I did not expect to see you here," she said.

"You told me you were coming," he answered simply. The inference would
have been enough for some women, but not for Etta Sydney Bamborough.

"Well, is that a reason why you should attend a diplomatic soiree, and
force yourself to bow and smirk to a number of white-handed little
dandies whom you despise?"

"The best reason," he answered quietly, with an honesty which somehow
touched her as nothing else had touched this beautiful woman since she
had become aware of her beauty.

"Then you think it worth the bowing and the smirking?" she asked,
looking past him with innocent eyes. She made an imperceptible little
movement toward him as if she expected him to whisper. She was of that
school. But he was not. His was not the sort of mind to conceive any
thought that required whispering. Some persons in fact went so far as to
say that he was hopelessly dull, that he had no subtlety of thought, no
brightness, no conversation. These persons were no doubt ladies upon
whom he had failed to lavish the exceedingly small change of compliment.

"It is worth that and more," he replied, with his ready smile. "After
all, bowing and smirking come very easily. One soon gets accustomed to
it."

"One has to," she replied with a little sigh. "Especially if one is a
woman, which little mishap comes to some of us, you know. I wonder if
you could find me a chair."

She was standing with her back to a small sofa capable of holding three,
but calculated to accommodate two. She did not of course see it. In fact
she looked everywhere but toward it, raising her perfectly gloved
fingers tentatively for his arm.

"I am tired of standing," she added.

He turned and indicated the sofa, toward which she immediately advanced.
As she sat down he noted vaguely that she was exquisitely dressed,
certainly one of the best dressed women in the room. Her costume was
daring without being startling, being merely black a