said. "But I'll try him."

"You can let me know to-night at the theatre," she directed.

CHAPTER IX

Nothing short of a miracle could have made Matravers' luncheon party a
complete success; yet, so far as Berenice was concerned, it could
scarcely be looked upon in any other light. Her demeanour towards
Adelaide Robinson and Fergusson was such as to give absolutely no
opportunity for anything disagreeable! She frankly admitted both her
inexperience and her ignorance. Yet, before they left, both Fergusson
and his companion began to understand Matravers' confidence in her.
There was something almost magnetically attractive about her
personality.

The luncheon was very much what one who knew him would have expected
from Matravers--simple, yet served with exceeding elegance. The
fruit, the flowers, and the wine had been his own care; and the table
had very much the appearance of having been bodily transported from
the palace of a noble of some southern land. After the meal was over,
they sat out upon the shaded balcony and sipped their coffee and
liqueurs,--Fergusson and Berenice wrapt in the discussion of many
details of the work which lay before them, whilst Matravers, with an
effort which he carefully concealed, talked continually with Adelaide
Robinson.

"Is it true," she asked him, "that you did not intend your play for
the stage--that you wrote it from a literary point of view only?"

"In a sense, that is quite true," he admitted. "I wrote it without any
definite idea of offering it to any London manager. My doing so was
really only an impulse."

[Illustration: Matravers was suddenly conscious of an odd sense of
disturbance]

"If Mr. Fergusson is right--and he is a pretty good judge--you won't
regret having done so," she remarked. "He thinks it is going to have
a big run."

"He may be right," Matravers answered. "For all our sakes, I hope so!"

"It will be a magnificent opportunity for your friend."

Matravers looked over towards Berenice. She was talking eagerly to
Fergusson, whose dark, handsome head was very close to hers, and in
whose eyes was already evident his growing admiration. Matravers was
suddenly conscious of an odd sense of disturbance. He was grateful to
Adelaide Robinson for her intervention. She had risen to her feet, and
glanced downwards at the little brougham drawn up below.

"I am so sorry to go," she said; "but I positively must make some
calls this afternoon."

Fergusson