ld therefore be utterly futile to be examined and worried by people
who cannot possibly trace it to its origin. She knows, moreover, that
even if it is traced to its origin, the discovery can only prove
humiliating to her pride."

"Yes, but----"

"We must manoeuvre."

The widow did not understand.

"I mean, if you and Agatha will only disappear, I'll walk into the room
and prevail upon her to make friends. That is to say," he added,
"provided she doesn't escape meanwhile."

Mrs. Delarayne fingered her necklace pensively, and jerked her head
forward once or twice in solemn silence.

"That's the only thing, I'm afraid," said Lord Henry.

The widow rose, still staring very thoughtfully before her.

"Don't make too heavy weather of it," continued Lord Henry. "It's not
serious. It will all be well in a day or two."

"Really?" she exclaimed brightening.

"Certainly," he said.

Mrs. Delarayne surveyed him a moment. She hadn't the faintest idea what
he was driving at, but such was her confidence in the soundness of his
judgment that she started on her way to fulfil his instructions. There
was but one circumstance that made her feel that Lord Henry was a trifle
unfamiliar to her on this visit, and that was his unusually well-groomed
appearance. In his present outfit he seemed just a little terrifying. It
was as if she divined that his more normal, his more fashionable
exterior on this occasion, made him accessible to other women besides
herself.

She smiled a little nervously and left the room, leaving the door ajar.

He rose as soon as she had gone, heard her say a few words to her
daughter and Agatha, and a second or two later, was given the signal
which announced that the ground was clear.

He entered the room as if by accident, glanced casually round, and in
doing so got a fleeting glimpse of Cleopatra.

She was lying back in a deep armchair, her chin resting in her hand. He
noticed that she raised her head, regarded him with an expression of
mingled interest, fear, and surprise, then slightly stirring in her
chair, looked about her for some means of escape. Her back was turned to
the light so that her face was in shadow, and with the object of leaving
her under the protection of the discreet lighting she had chosen, he sat
down facing her, with the whole glare of the sunlit garden upon him.

"Miss Delarayne," he began, "please don't move on my account. I don't
think I shall disturb you. I heard you would