th was on the list of Merton's
references, and that reassured her, more or less.

As for Merton, he evolved a plan in his mind, and consulted Bradshaw's
invaluable Railway Guide.

On the following night Merton was fortunate or adroit enough to find
himself seated beside Mrs. Brown-Smith in a conservatory at a party given
by the Montenegrin Ambassador. Other occupants of the fairy-like bower
of blossoms, musical with all the singing of the innumerable fountains,
could not but know (however preoccupied) that Mrs. Brown-Smith was being
amused. Her laughter 'rang merry and loud,' as the poet says, though not
a word of her whispered conversation was audible. Conservatories (in
novels) are dangerous places for confidences, but the pale and angry face
of Miss Malory did _not_ suddenly emerge from behind a grove of
gardenias, and startle the conspirators. Indeed, Miss Malory was not
present; she and her sister had no great share in the elegant frivolities
of the metropolis.

'It all fits in beautifully,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'Just let me look
at the page of Bradshaw again.' Merton handed to her a page of closely
printed matter. '9.17 P.M., 9.50 P.M.' read Mrs. Brown-Smith aloud; 'it
gives plenty of time in case of delays. Oh, this is too delicious! You
are sure that these trains won't be altered. It might be awkward.'

'I consulted Anson,' said Merton. Anson was famous for his mastery of
time-tables, and his prescience as to railway arrangements.

'Of course it depends on the widow,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith, 'I shall see
that Johnnie is up to time. He hopes to undersell the opposition soap'
(Mr. Brown-Smith was absent in America, in the interests of that soap of
his which is familiar to all), 'and he is in the best of humours. Then
their grouse! We have disease on our moors in Perthshire; I was in
despair. But the widow needs delicate handling.'

'You won't forget--I know how busy you are--her cards for your party?'

'They shall be posted before I sleep the sleep of conscious innocence.'

'And real benevolence,' said Merton.

'And revenge,' added Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'I have heard of his bragging,
the monster. He has talked about _me_. And I remember how he treated
Violet Lebas.'

At this moment the Vidame de la Lain, a tall, fair young man, vastly too
elegant, appeared, and claimed Mrs. Brown-Smith for a dance. With a look
at Merton, and a sound which, from less perfect lips, might have been
describe