t the death of his
father, Vermont found himself possessed of an income of a thousand a
year, which enabled him to become a member of Adrien's set,
notwithstanding that the amount was a much smaller one than he had been
led to expect, and, in his opinion, savoured almost of aristocratic
poverty.

The car had rolled silently into a side street off St. James's, where
the chauffeur pulled up sharply at the door of one of the old-fashioned,
though now newly-painted houses. Vermont sprang out and rang the bell
twice.

"Has Miss Lester returned yet?" he asked of the smart maid who opened
the door.

"Yes, sir," she answered, and promptly led the way up a newly-carpeted
staircase, redolent of Parma violet scent and glistening with white
enamelled woodwork and plaster casts. The walls were adorned with
pictures in the worst possible taste and the most glaring colours. As
Vermont reached the first floor, a strong, savoury odour filled the air.

He smiled sarcastically, and sniffed as if the perfume were familiar to
him.

"Miss Lester at supper?" he asked the white-capped maid, as she threw
open the door on the first floor, and stood aside to let the visitor
precede her.

"Yes, sir; supper's been served," was the demure answer.

Vermont passed into the room, which was furnished with the same lack of
taste as the staircase. Two women were seated at the table, apparently
just finishing their supper.

At first glance they might have been mistaken for mother and daughter,
as the elder woman was clad in a sombre black velvet dress, and had a
pale, thin face, crowned with heavy masses of grey hair. On closer
inspection, however, one perceived that Julia Lester was far from
old--indeed, not more than about forty-five, and with a peculiarly
gentle, almost child-like expression, which at first took one almost by
surprise.

On the other hand, her sister, though only about ten years younger,
would easily have passed as twenty-five, especially when behind the
footlights, which was her usual environment.

"Oh, it's you, Jasper, is it?" she remarked carelessly, pausing in the
act of lighting a cigarette. "Didn't hear you come in. You're so quiet
on your pins."

Like the house she inhabited, Miss Lester combined in her person
prodigality of colours with a fine disregard of taste. Beautiful she
undoubtedly was, with the black-browed, dark-eyed beauty of a Cleopatra,
for there was some Italian blood in her veins. It was given out