rarer; she was handsome. Her features had the surety of an intaglio.
Therewith was an air and a look that were not worldly or even superior,
but which, when necessary as she sometimes found it, could reduce a man,
and for that matter a woman, to proportions really imperceptible.

A little beauty and a little devil, thought Paliser, who was an expert.
But leisurely, in his Oxford voice, he outlined for her a picture less
defined. "You remind me of something."

With entire brevity and equal insolence, she returned it. "I dare say."

"Yes. Of supper."

"An ogre, are you?"

Paliser, ruminating the possibilities of her slim beauty served Regence,
smiled at this girl who did not smile back. "Not Nebuchadnezzar at any
rate. Vegetarianism is not my forte. Won't you and Madame Tamburini take
potluck with me? There must be a restaurant somewhere."

The fallen star moistened her painted lips. "Yes, why not?"

Born in California, of foreign parents, she had neither morals or accent
and spoke in a deep voice. She spoke American and English. She spoke the
easy French of the boulevards, the easier Italian of the operatic stage.
She never spoke of Tamburini. She left him to be imagined, which perhaps
he had been.

From the room they went on into a wide, crowded hall, beyond which was
another room, enclosed in glass, where there were tables and palms.

As they entered, a captain approached. There was a smell of pineapple,
the odour of fruit and flowers. From a gallery came the tinkle of
mandolins. Mainly the tables were occupied. But the captain, waving the
way, piloted them to a corner, got them seated and stood, pad in hand.

Paliser looked at Cassy Cara. She was hungry as a wolf, but she said
indifferently: "A swallow of anything."

"One swallow does not make a supper," Paliser retorted and looked at the
Tamburini who appeared less indifferent.

"Ham and eggs."

Without a quiver, the captain booked it.

"Also," Paliser told him, "caviare, woodcock, Ruinart." From the man he
turned to the girl. "It was very decent of Lennox to introduce me to
you."

Cassy put her elbows on the table. "He could not be anything else than
decent. Don't you know him well?"

Paliser shrugged. "Our intimacy is not oppressive."

"He saved her father's life," the Tamburini put in. "Her father is a
musician--and authentically marquis," she added, as though that
explained everything.

"We are Portuguese," said Cassy, "or at least my fath