d," he answered.

* * * * *

The supper party was one of those absolute and complete successes which
rarely fall to the lot of even the most carefully thought out of social
functions. Every one of Lady Tresham's guests had accepted the hurried
invitation, every one seemed in good spirits, and delighted at the
opportunity of unrestrained conversation after several hours at the
theatre. The supper itself, absolutely the best of its kind, from the
caviare and plovers' eggs to the marvellous ices, and served in one of
the handsomest rooms in London, was really beyond criticism. To Trent
it seemed almost like a dream, as he leaned back in his chair and
looked down at the little party--the women with their bare shoulders and
jewels, bathed in the soft glow of the rose-shaded electric lights, the
piles of beautiful pink and white flowers, the gleaming silver, and the
wine which frothed in their glasses. The music of the violins on the
balcony blended with the soft, gay voices of the women. Ernestine was by
his side, every one was good-humoured and enjoying his hospitality.
Only one face at the table was a reminder of the instability of his
fortunes--a face he had grown to hate during the last few hours with
a passionate, concentrated hatred. Yet the man was of the same race as
these people, his connections were known to many of them, he was making
new friends and reviving old ties every moment. During a brief lull in
the conversation his clear, soft voice suddenly reached Trent's ears. He
was telling a story.

"Africa," he was saying, "is a country of surprises. Attra seems to be
a city of hopeless exile for all white people. Last time I was there I
used to notice every day a very old man making a pretence of working
in a kitchen garden attached to a little white mission-house--a Basle
Society depot. He always seemed to be leaning on his spade, always
gazing out seawards in the same intent, fascinated way. Some one told me
his history at last. He was an Englishman of good position who had got
into trouble in his younger days and served a term of years in prison.
When he came out, sooner than disgrace his family further, he published
a false account of his death and sailed under a disguised name for
Africa. There he has lived ever since, growing older and sinking lower,
often near fortune but always missing it, a slave to bad habits, weak
and dissolute if you like, but ever keeping