that was by G. A. Petersen?"

"But Peter is G. A. Petersen. Only his intimate friends know it,
though, as he detests publicity. So go don't give the fact away."

"I won't. You've read this new book, I suppose?"

"Yes. And you must. It's the finest study of a woman's temperament
I've ever come across. . . . Goodness knows he's had opportunity
enough to study the subject!"

Nan froze a little.

"Oh, is he a gay Lothario sort of person?" she asked coldly. "He
didn't strike me in that light."

"No. He's not in the least like that. He's an ideal husband wasted."

Nan's eyes twinkled.

"Don't poach on preserved ground, Kitty. Marriages are made in heaven."

As she spoke the door opened to admit the men, and somebody claiming
Kitty's attention at the moment she turned away without reply. For a
few minutes the conversation became more general until, after a brief
hum and stir, congenial spirits sought and found each other and settled
down into little groups of twos and threes. Somewhat to Nan's
surprise--and, although she would not have acknowledged it, to her
annoyance--Peter Mallory ensconced himself next to Penelope, and Ralph
Fenton, the singer, thus driven from the haven where he would be, came
to anchor beside Nan.

"I've not seen you for a long time, Miss Davenant. How's the world
been treating you?"

"Rather better than usual," she replied gaily. "More ha'pence than
kicks for once in a way."

"You're booking up pretty deep for the winter, then, I suppose?"

Nan winced at the professional jargon. There was certain aspects of a
musician's life which repelled her, more particularly the commercial
side of it.

She responded indifferently.

"No. I haven't booked a single further engagement. The ha'pence are
due to an avuncular relative who has a quite inexplicable penchant for
an idle niece."

"My congratulations. Still, I hope this unexpected windfall isn't
going to keep you off the concert platform altogether?"

"Not more than my own distaste for playing in public," she answered.
"I'd much rather write music than perform."

"I can hardly believe you really dislike the publicity? The
fascination of it grows on most of us."

"I know it does. I suppose that accounts for the endless farewell
concerts a declining singer generally treats us to."

There was an unwonted touch of sharpness in her voice, and Fenton
glanced at her in some surprise. It was unlike her to give vent to
suc