irst."

Mrs. Bergmann grew restless. It was half-past one, and no Shakespeare.
She tried to make her guests talk, with indifferent success. The
expectation was too great. Everybody was absorbed by the thought of what
was going to happen next. Ten minutes passed thus, and Mrs. Bergmann
grew more and more anxious.

At last the bell rang, and soon Mrs. Lockton walked upstairs, leading
with her a quite insignificant, ordinary-looking, middle-aged, rather
portly man with shiny black hair, bald on the top of his head, and a
blank, good-natured expression.

"I'm so sorry to be so late, Louise, dear," she said. "Let me introduce
Mr. ---- to you." And whether she had forgotten the name or not, Mrs.
Bergmann did not know or care at the time, but it was mumbled in such
a manner that it was impossible to catch it. Mrs. Bergmann shook hands
with him absent-mindedly, and, looking at the clock, saw that it was ten
minutes to two.

"I have been deceived," she thought to herself, and anger rose in her
breast like a wave. At the same time she felt the one thing necessary
was not to lose her head, or let anything damp the spirits of her
guests.

"We'll go down to luncheon directly," she said. "I'm expecting some
one else, but he probably won't come till later." She led the way
and everybody trooped downstairs to the dining-room, feeling that
disappointment was in store for them. Mrs. Bergmann left the place on
her right vacant; she did not dare fill it up, because in her heart of
hearts she felt certain Shakespeare would arrive, and she looked forward
to a _coup de theatre_, which would be quite spoilt if his place was
occupied. On her left sat Count Sciarra; the unknown friend of Angela
Lockton sat at the end of the table next to Willmott.

The luncheon started haltingly. Angela Lockton's friend was heard saying
in a clear voice that the dust in London was very trying.

"Have you come from the country?" asked M. Faubourg. "I myself am just
returned from Oxford, where I once more admired your admirable English
lawns--_vos pelouses seculaires_."

"Yes," said the stranger, "I only came up to town to-day, because it
seems indeed a waste and a pity to spend the finest time of the year in
London."

Count Sciarra, who had not uttered a word since he had entered the
house, turned to his hostess and asked her whom she considered, after
herself, to be the most beautiful woman in the room, Lady Irene, Lady
Hyacinth, or Mrs. Milden?

"