k down on a show like this, I'd have a
beautiful time, but"--she opened her fan--"it's rather stuffy to be
in it."

Laine glanced around. He knew the house well. Next to the library,
but not opening into it, was a small room of Taillor's which could
only be reached by a narrow passage at their right. He walked away
and looked in at the door. The room was empty.

"I think it will be more comfortable over there," he said, coming
back, then saw she was talking to a man he had long known and long
disliked. He stopped a servant who was passing, a man who had once
been in the employ of one of his clubs. "Bring some stuff over here
and be quick, will you, David?" he said, then spoke to the man
talking to Miss Keith.

His greeting to Dudley was not cordial. It was with difficulty
indeed that he did not take Claudia away at once. Dudley was not the
sort of man for her to have anything to do with. In a time
incredibly short, but to Laine irritatingly long, David was back,
abundantly supplied; and with a nod he was directed to the room at
the end of the narrow hall, and Laine turned to the girl at his side.
"Are you ready?"

"Good night." Miss Keith held out her hand. "Bettina sent you many
messages."

"I'm coming to get them--may I?" Mr. Dudley's eyes were frankly
eager. "But where are you going? Laine always was a monopolist.
What are you doing at a thing of this kind, anyhow, Laine? Don't pay
any attention to him, Miss Keith. He's mere facts and figures, and
the froth of life is not in him. I'm much better company."

The last words were lost in the push of new arrivals, and quickly
Laine led the way to the room where David was waiting. Through the
open door the sound of music reached them faintly over the shrill
rise and fall of many voices; and as Claudia sat down near the table
on which various plates had been placed she put her hands to the
sides of her face and, laughing, drew them away.

"Did you ever put a cockle-shell to your ear and notice its roar?"
she asked. "That's how a Tea sounds when there're only women at it.
When there're men it's more so. What is this?" She held her fork
suspended for a moment. "It's awfully good, but very elusive. What
do you suppose it is?"

"A bunch of guesses wouldn't hit it. Clicot is providing the
provender, I believe; I see his men here, and the ambition of
Clicot's life is to create a new dish. I'm glad you like it. It's
as near nothing as anything