. Slumper's pedigree, but touched lightly upon a
whole variety of subjects, including the ultimate destination of all
composers and the uses of rain.

It was full five minutes before the limousine was able to be brought
close enough to the entrance for Anthony to leave the running-board and
advise his master. When it was next in order but two, he stepped on to
the pavement and struggled towards the entrance. As he was about to
tell an attendant to summon "101," a car slid into position, and the
fellow set his hand on the door.

"Forty-six waiting!" he bawled.

A glance at the steps showed the approach of quality--all cloaks and
soft hair and slim silk stockings--the attendant threw open the door
and Lyveden stood still.

The taller of the two women was the second to enter the car. As she
stood waiting, she glanced round quickly. Her eyes met Anthony's,
rested a moment of time, and then swept on without a flicker.... A
second later the door had slammed upon her high heels.

Lyveden was left to feel the blood come flaming into his face, to
wonder whether my lady had known him again, and to stuff the breath of
an exquisite perfume into the same reliquary as held the picture of a
tall dark figure setting her hair to rights in the mouth of an inn.

* * * * *

Upon the next Saturday a particularly smart wedding was to take place.
Anthony, who had seen the announcements, was prepared for the worst.
Sure enough, on Friday afternoon as he was clearing the table of tea--

"I shall want yer to-morrow," said Mrs. Slumper. "I 'ave to go to the
weddin' o' that there Finnigan boy. I'm sure I'm sick o' crushes, but
'er ladyship would never fergive me if I diddun show up."

Anthony hesitated with the tray in his hands.

"Mr. Hopkins is taking Sunday, madam, so I can't go out then."

"I can't 'elp that," was the testy reply.

"I don't wish to inconvenience you, madam, but, as it was arranged that
I should always have----"

"Subjec' to _my_ convenience," snapped Mrs. Slumper. "That's wot I
said." She had said nothing of the sort. "An' am I to go pushin' orf
to a dandy crush without a servant? Hopenin' me own dores, an'
fetchin' me own car, an' wot not, jus' like a common beggar in a 'ired
fly? Look 'ere, young man, I didn't ought to 'ave took you at all,
reelly. Wot with no refs an' no experience, yer might 'ave walked the
soles orf of yer perishin' boots before yer got into a 'ouse li