The lady addressed her cavalier, "Will you please take me away? This person is a stranger to me."
He took her away. As Mr. Fungst continued to stare after the retreating pair someone touched him on the shoulder. It was a young gentleman who wore a single eyeglass. It is not impossible that he had been commissioned by Mr. Ivor Dacre, who is the soul of mischief.
"Don't you think you're rather blocking the way? What is it you want?"
"I wish to say just two words to the Duchess of Datchet"
"That is not the Duchess of Datchet." The young gentleman drew him aside. "That is the Duchess of Datchet"
As he spoke the music ceased. The dance was ended. The gentlemen began to lead the ladies to their seats. In front of Mr. Fungst there passed a woman who was tall and most divinely fair. Her hair was of the colour of the rich red gold. Where its glorious mass was thickest there gleamed a diamond. It was the diamond and not the woman which caught the eye of Mr. Fungst
"Mein Gott!"—he uttered what seemed to be his favourite imprecation—"it's changed!"
Something seemed to startle him so greatly that he actually allowed the lady to pass, and unmolested. She leaned on the arm of a gentleman who was not only much taller than herself, but, in his way, as handsome. There was probably no handsomer couple in the room. And yet the lady seemed ill at ease, although the gentleman was smiling at her all the time.
