tch, conveniently placed, so that
the darkness which aids reflection is also at your command. Then there
is the window, opening right down to the floor, from which, if it please
you, you may study the activity of the roofless ant-hill beneath, the
restless febrility of West End London.

To such a nook Zoe Oppner retired, after a dinner but little enjoyed in
solitary splendour amid the gaiety of one of the public dining-rooms.
Her father had been called away by some mysterious business, too late in
the evening for her to make other arrangements. So she had descended and
dined, a charming, but lonely figure, at the little corner table.

In some strange way, she had more than half anticipated that Severac
Bablon would be there. But, although there were a number of people
present whom she knew, the audacious Mr. Sanrack was not one of them.

Zoe had nodded to a number of acquaintances, but had not encouraged any
of them to disturb her solitude. The long and tiresome meal dealt with,
she had fled to the nook I have mentioned, and, with an Egyptian
cigarette between her lips, lay back watching, from the perfumed
darkness, the lights of London below.

The idea of calling upon Mary Evershed had occurred to her. Then she had
remembered that Mary was at some semi-official function of her uncle's,
Mr. Belford's. Sheila Vignoles would be at home, but Zoe began to feel
too deliciously lazy to think seriously of driving even so short a
distance.

In a big, cane lounge-chair packed with cushions she curled up
luxuriously and began to reflect.

Her reflections, it is needless to say, centred around Severac Bablon.
Why, she asked herself, despite his deeds, did she admire and respect
him? Her mind refused to face the problem, but she felt a hot blush rise
to her cheeks. She was a traitor to her father; she could not deny it.
But at any rate she was a frank traitor, if such a state be possible.
Only that morning she had explained her position to him.

"Severac Bablon," she had maintained, "only makes you rich men do what
you ought to do with some of your money! Even if the object weren't a
good one, even were it a ridiculous one, like making Dutchmen and
Americans buy British airships, it does make you _spend_ something. And
that's a change!"

Mr. Oppner was used to these outspoken critcisms from his daughter. He
had smiled grimly, wryly.

"I guess," had been his comment, "you'd stand up for the Bablon man,
then, if he ever ca