The mighty concourse became for a moment still. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. Nice lady. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage. And then, “They seem changed. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. “Is Lady Lescelles in?” he asked the butler. ’ Melusine frowned, placing her hand on the letter lying on the table.
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