en
them was not difficult to follow. She made him a request, he rolled
plaintive eyeballs at her, the lady carried her point, the gentleman
left the box. Then--one saw it coming--she leaned forward till the
diamonds in her plenitude of fair hair sparkled like a crown of
flame, and beckoned Lawrence to join her.

He cursed her impertinence. Apart from leaving Isabel, he did
not want to talk to Mrs. Cleve: he had forgotten her existence,
and it was a shock to him to meet her again. Good heavens, had
he ever admired her? That white blanc-mange of a woman in her
ruby-red French gown, cut open lower than one of Yvonne's without
the saying of Yvonne's wiry slimness? Remembering the summerhouse at
Bingley Lawrence blushed with shame, not for his morals but for his
taste: he was thankful to have gone no further and wondered why he
had gone so far.--He had not yet realized that during three months
among women of a different stamp his taste had imperceptibly modified
itself from day to day.

But she had been his hostess. Impossible to refuse: and with a
vexed word of apology to Laura he went out. "Dear me, what an
opulent lady!" said Laura with lifted eyebrows. "Who's your
friend, Lulu?"

Lucian drily named her. "Queen's Gate, and Sundays at the
Metropole. They're shipping people, which is where the diamond
ta-ra-ras come from. Oh yes, there's a husband, quite a nice
fellow, crocked in the Flying Corps. No, I don't know who the
chap is she's got with her. Some dusky brother. Not Cleve." He
fell silent as Lawrence appeared in the opposite box.

It was an odd scene to watch in dumbshow. Mrs. Cleve shook
hands, and Lawrence was held for more than the conventional
moment. He remained standing till she pointed to her cavalier's
empty chair: then dropped into it, but sat forward leaning his
aim along the balcony, while she, drawn back behind her curtain,
was almost drowned in shadow except for an occasional flash of
diamonds, or an opaque gleam of white and dimpled neck. An
interlude entirely decorous, and yet, so crude was the force of
Philippa's personality, one would have had to be very young, or
very innocent, to overlook her drift.

"Well, my darling," said Laura, "and what do you think of
Madeleine Wild?" She did not wish Isabel to watch Mrs. Cleve.
"Is she as nice as your Salisbury Rosalind?"

"Angelical!" said Isabel. "And isn't it luck for me, Royalty
coming tonight? I've never seen any one Royal b