a victor, he had not looked to find his monitress. But there she was, pale, grim, yet somehow oddly distinguished in the background of a room curiously familiar. It was to her that his eyes leapt.
"Why, Miss Sanderson!" he said, with a conqueror's laugh, in which there was no trace of the tongue-tied youth of three and twenty years ago. Offering a conqueror's hand, he went forward to greet her.
Harriet yielded hers with a vivid blush. And as she did so, she was suddenly aware of two swordlike orbs piercing her right through.
"I didn't know Mrs. Sanderson was a friend of yours," said the honeyed voice of Lady Muriel.
"A very old friend," said Sir Dugald gayly.
At that moment, however, it was necessary for Lady Muriel to curb her curiosity. Since her exit from that room half-an-hour ago other people had gathered in it. She had hardly spoken when her astonished eyes fell upon Cousin Jack. Their recognition of each other was mutually incredulous. Yet there was really no reason why it should have been. It was known to the young man that Muriel had been refused permission to marry a politician already on the high road to place and power, and it was known to her that Jack had been going about with an actress.
"A family party," said Jack, as their eyes met. "Let me introduce Miss Lawrence—Lady Muriel Dinneford."
An exchange of aloof bows followed. And then, although very careful to seem to do nothing of the kind, each measured the other with an eye as hard and bright as a diamond. To neither was the result of this scrutiny exactly pleasant. It came upon Cousin Muriel with a
