don't like it mentioned, but I was
really engaged to young Lord Fanleighton."

He murmured a little word of sympathy, and their conversation was
momentarily interrupted as she leaned forward to answer an enquiry from
her host. Wingate turned to Sarah, who was seated at his other side.

"How dare you neglect me so shamefully!" she asked.

"Let me make amends," he pleaded.

"I am glad you feel penitent, at any rate. I expect Miss Flossie Lane has
asked you what you think of her friend, Miss Orford, and told you that
she was engaged to Lord Fanleighton."

"What a hearing!" he murmured.

"Don't be silly," she replied. "I couldn't hear a word, but I know her
stock in trade."

There was a little stir at the farther end of the table. Lord Dredlinton
had left his place and was standing behind Phipps, with his hands upon
his shoulders. He seemed to be shouting something in his ear. At that
moment he recognised Wingate. He staggered up the farther side of the
table towards him, butting into a waiter on the way and pausing for a
moment to curse him, Flossie jogged Wingate's elbow.

"What fun!" she whispered. "Here's Lord Dredlinton, absolutely blotto!"

CHAPTER IX

Wingate from the first had a prescience of disagreeable things. There was
malice in Dredlinton's pallid face, the ugly twist of his lips and the
light in his bloodshot eyes. He paused opposite to them, and leaning his
hands on the back of the nearest chair, spoke across the table.

"Hullo, Flossie!" he exclaimed. "How are you, old dear? How are
you, Wingate?"

Wingate replied with cold civility, Flossie with a careless nod.

"I do hope," she whispered to her companion, glancing into the mirror
which she had just drawn from her bag, "that Lord Dredlinton isn't going
to be foolish. He does embarrass me so sometimes."

"I say," Dredlinton went on, "what are you doing here, Wingate? I didn't
know this sort of thing was in your line."

Wingate raised his eyebrows but made no response. Dredlinton shook his
head reproachfully at Miss Lane.

"Flossie," he continued, "you ought to know better. Besides, you will
waste your time. Mr. Wingate's taste in women is of a very--superior
order. Doesn't care about your sort at all. He likes saints. That's
right, isn't it, Wingate?"

"You seem to know," was the cool reply.

"Not 't tall sure," Dredlinton went on, balancing himself with
difficulty, "that your new conquest would altogether approve of this, you