entry and posed himself
for being introduced. She looked round with slow assurance, fully
conscious of the lull in conversation and of the eyes that were taking
stock of her. Eric felt an artistic admiration for her way of silently
dominating a room.

"Am I late, dear Marion?" she asked, with the smile of startled
recognition which made men and women anxious to throw protecting arms
round her thin shoulders. "Eric and I have been rehearsing our play--the
new one, I mean, that I'm taking in hand--and I had such a lot to do
when I got home." She displayed adequate patience, while Mrs. Shelley
completed her introductions, and then crossed to Eric's corner. "Glad to
see me again?" she whispered. "I've decided that you're to lunch with us
on Saturday."

"And I've decided to gladden the hearts of my family by going down to
Winchester," he answered.

"But you must go later. I'll come with you, if you'll find a practicable
train; I'm going to Crawleigh. Say you'd like to travel down with me."

"I make a practice of sleeping in the train," he answered.

"You won't on Saturday. Sometimes, Eric, I find your little practices
and habits and rules rather tiresome; I must educate you out of them. By
the way, I want to be seen home to-night."

It was a disappointing dinner for Eric, as, after coming to gratify
Barbara, he was separated from her by the length of the table. In
conversation Mrs. Shelley always gave people what was good for them
rather than what they liked; Barbara was accordingly set next to an art
editor, who tried to wheedle from her an article on "Eastern Decoration
in Western Houses," while Eric found himself sandwiched without hope of
escape between Mrs. Manisty, who discussed poetry which he had not read,
and the flamboyant novelist, who had lately discovered and insisted on
exposing a mutual-admiration ring in the novel-reviewers of the London
press.

If dull, the meal was at least not so embarrassing as his dinner of the
night before with Lady Poynter. Barbara seemed chilled by uncongenial
company, though she touched his hand on her way to the door and turned,
with patent consciousness that she was being watched, to give him a
parting smile. Mrs. Manisty also turned, before she could control her
curiosity, to see for whom the smile was intended. And, as Eric threw
away his match after lighting a cigar, he found two of the men smiling.

In the absence of a host to pull them together, six groups
self-consc