aptain Warkworth."

VI

The new-comer drew all eyes as he approached the group surrounding Lady
Henry. Montresor put up his glasses and bestowed on him a few moments of
scrutiny, during which the Minister's heavily marked face took on the
wary, fighting aspect which his department and the House of Commons
knew. The statesman slipped in for an instant between the trifler coming
and the trifler gone.

As for Wilfrid Bury, he was dazzled by the young man's good looks.
"'Young Harry with his beaver up!'" he thought, admiring against his
will, as the tall, slim soldier paid his respects to Lady Henry, and,
with a smiling word or two to the rest of those present, took his place
beside her in the circle.

"Well, have you come for your letters?" said Lady Henry, eying him with
a grim favor.

"I think I came--for conversation," was Warkworth's laughing reply, as
he looked first at his hostess and then at the circle.

"Then I fear you won't get it," said Lady Henry, throwing herself back
in her chair. "Mr. Montresor can do nothing but quarrel and contradict."

Montresor lifted his hands in wonder.

"Had I been AEsop," he said, slyly, "I would have added another touch to
a certain tale. Observe, please!--even after the Lamb has been devoured
he is still the object of calumny on the part of the Wolf! Well, well!
Mademoiselle, come and console me. Tell me what new follies the Duchess
has on foot."

And, pushing his chair back till he found himself on a level with Julie
Le Breton, the great man plunged into a lively conversation with her.
Sir Wilfrid, Warkworth, and a few other _habitues_ endeavored meanwhile
to amuse Lady Henry. But it was not easy. Her brow was lowering, her
talk forced. Throughout, Sir Wilfrid perceived in her a strained
attention directed towards the conversation on the other side of the
room. She could neither see it nor hear it, but she was jealously
conscious of it. As for Montresor, there was no doubt an element of
malice in the court he was now paying to Mademoiselle Julie. Lady Henry
had been thorny over much during the afternoon; even for her oldest
friend she had passed bounds; he desired perhaps to bring it home
to her.

Meanwhile, Julie Le Breton, after a first moment of reserve and
depression, had been beguiled, carried away. She yielded to her own
instincts, her own gifts, till Montresor, drawn on and drawn out, found
himself floating on a stream of talk, which Julie led first into on