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was Lord Robert who seemed the more dominant and more dignified of these two men and before his mild glare the other suddenly looked furtive. His coarse, handsome face became quite white. Some seconds elapsed before he spoke.
    “Oh — ah — how do you do?” said Captain Withers very heartily.
    “Good evening,” said Lord Robert and turned back to Lady Alleyn. Captain Withers walked quickly away.
    “Why, Bunchy,” said Lady Alleyn softly, “I’ve never seen you snub anybody before.”
    “D’you know who that was?”
    “No.”
    “Feller called Maurice Withers. He’s a throw-back to my Foreign Office days.”
    “He’s frightened of you.”
    “I hope so,” said Lord Robert. “I’ll trot along and pay my respects to my hostess. It’s been charming seeing you. Will you dine with me one evening? Bring Roderick. Can you give me an evening? Now?”
    “I’m so busy with Sarah. May we ring you up? If it can be managed—”
    “It must be.
Au ’voir
, m’dear.”
    “Good-bye, Bunchy.”
    He made his little bow and picked his way through the crowd to Mrs Halcut-Hackett.
    “I’m on my way out,” he said, “but I hoped to get a word with you. Perfectly splendid party.”
    She turned all the headlights of her social manner full on him. It was, he decided compassionately, a bogus manner. An imitation, but what a good imitation. She called him “dear Lord Robert” like a grande dame in a slightly dated comedy. Her American voice, which he remembered thinking charming in her theatrical days, was now much disciplined and none the better for it. She asked him if he was doing the season very thoroughly and he replied with his usual twinkle that he got about a bit.
    “Are you going to the show at the Constance Street Rooms on Thursday afternoon?” he asked. “I’m looking forward to that awfully.”
    Her eyes went blank but she scarcely paused before answering yes, she believed she was.
    “It’s the Sirmione Quartette,” said Lord Robert. “Awfully good, ain’t they? Real top-notchers.”
    Mrs Halcut-Hackett said she adored music, especially classical music.
    “Well,” said Lord Robert, “I’ll give myself the pleasure of looking out for you there if it wouldn’t bore you. Not so many people nowadays enjoy Bach.”
    Mrs Halcut-Hackett said she thought Bach was marvellous.
    “Do tell me,” said Lord Robert with his engaging air of enjoying a gossip. “I’ve just run into a feller whose face looked as familiar as anything, but I can’t place him. Feller over there talking to the girl in red.”
    He saw patches of rouge on her cheeks suddenly start up in hard isolation and he thought: “That’s shaken her, poor thing.”.
    She said: “Do you mean Captain Maurice Withers?”
    “Maybe. The name don’t strike a chord, though. I’ve got a shocking memory. Better be getting along. May I look out for you on Thursday? Thank you so much. Goodbye.”
    “Good-bye, dear Lord Robert,” said Mrs Halcut-Hackett.
    He edged his way out and was waiting patiently for his hat and umbrella when someone at his elbow said:
    “Hullo, Uncle Bunch, are you going home?”
    Lord Robert turned slowly and saw his nephew.
    “What? Oh, it’s you, Donald! Yes, I am! Taking a cab. Want a lift?”
    “Yes, please,” said Donald.
    Lord Robert looked over his glasses at his nephew and remarked that he seemed rather agitated. He thought: “What the deuce is the matter with everybody?” but he only said: “Come along, then,” and together they went out into the street. Lord Robert held up his umbrella and a taxi drew in to the kerb.
    “Evening, m’lord,” said the driver.
    “Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Lord Robert. “Evening. We’re going home.”
    “Two hundred Cheyne Walk. Very good, m’lord,” wheezed the driver. He was a goggle-eyed, grey-haired, mottle-faced taximan with an air of good-humoured truculence about him. He slammed the door on them, jerked down the lever of his meter, and started up his