d Ulford. Both of them looked rather pathetic. Mrs. Wolfstein
was not far off, standing in the midst of a group and holding forth with
almost passionate vivacity and self-possession. Her husband was gliding
sideways through the crowd with his peculiarly furtive and watchful air,
which always suggested the old nursery game, "Here I am on Tom Tiddler's
ground, picking up gold and silver." Lady Manby was laughing in a corner
with an archdeacon who looked like a guardsman got up in fancy dress.
Mr. Bry, his eyeglass fixed in his left eye, came towards the staircase,
moving delicately like Agag, and occasionally dropping a cold or
sarcastic word to an acquaintance. He reached Lady Holme when Lord Holme
was half-way up the stairs, and at once saw him.

"A giant refreshed with wine," he observed, dropping his eyeglass.

It was such a perfect description of Lord Holme in his present condition
that two or three people who were standing with Lady Holme smiled,
looking down the staircase. Lady Holme did not smile. She continued
chattering, but her face wore a discontented expression. Mr. Bry noticed
it. There were very few things he did not notice, although he claimed to
be the most short-sighted man in London.

"Why is your husband so dutiful to-night?" he murmured to his hostess.
"I thought he always had to go into the country to look at a gee-gee on
these occasions."

"He had to be in town for the dinner to Sir Jacob Rowley. I begged him
to come back in--How did do! How did do! Yes, very. Mr. Raleigh, do tell
the opera people not to put on Romeo too often this season. Of course
Melba's splendid in it, and all that, but still--"

Mr. Bry fixed his eyeglass again, and began to smile gently like an
evil-minded baby. Lord Holme's brown face was full in view, grinning.
His eyes were looking about with unusual vivacity.

"How early you are, Fritz! Good boy. I want you to look after--"

"I say, Vi, why didn't you tell me?"

Mr. Bry, letting his eyeglass fall, looked abstracted and lent an
attentive ear. If he were not playing prompter to social comedies he
generally stood in the wings, watching and listening to them with a cold
amusement that was seldom devoid of a spice of venom.

"Tell you what, Fritz?"

"That Miss Schley was comin' to-night. Everyone's talking about her. I
sat next Laycock at dinner and he was ravin'. Told me she was to be here
and I didn't know it. Rather ridiculous, you know. Where is she?"

"Somewher