of fastidious tastes and with ample means to
gratify them, proved a delightful host. In his earlier days he had been
a constant diner-out; he understood the ordering of impromptu meals, and
he had that decision and air which inspires respect even in a
head-waiter. He marshalled his little party to the table reserved for
them, waved away the _table d'hote_ card, and ordered his dishes and
wine with excellent judgment and consideration for the tastes of his
guests. It was all most delightful--delightfully novel to Cicely and
her friend, delightful to Drexley, who was amazed to find that the power
of enjoyment still remained with him. The soft strains of music rose
and fell from a small but perfectly chosen Hungarian band out on the
balcony, the hum of conversation grew louder and merrier at every
moment, the champagne flashed in their glasses, and a younger Drexley
occupied the place of their kindly but taciturn host. Douglas, to whom
fell the entertaining of Cicely's friend, was honestly delighted at the
change. But in the midst of it came a crushing blow. Emily de Reuss
walked into the room.

As usual she was marvellously dressed, a stately glittering figure in a
gown of shimmering black which seemed at every moment on fire. Her
beautiful neck and shoulders were uncovered and undecorated; she walked
between a grey-headed man, who wore the orders of an ambassador and a
blue sash on his evening clothes, and his wife. Every one turned to
look at her, every one was watching when she stopped for a moment before
Drexley's table, but every one did not see the flash in her eyes and the
sudden tightening of her lips as she recognised the little party. Yet
she was graciousness itself to them, and Douglas was the only one who
noticed that first impulse of displeasure. She rested her fingers
almost affectionately on Drexley's shoulder, and the new flush of colour
in his cheeks faded into sallowness at her touch.

"Here are two at least of my friends who have proved faithless," she
said, lightly. "I have been abroad for--ah! how long it seems--one,
two, three months, and neither of you has bidden me welcome back to this
wonderful city."

"We are not magicians," Douglas answered, "and as yet I am sure there is
no paper which has chronicled your return. Only yesterday I was told
that you were at Vienna."

"Never," she said, smiling into his face, "never under any circumstances
believe anything anybody ever says about me. I have t