"I say, Macheson, how is it none of us ever ran up against you before?"

young Davenant demanded, leaning back in his chair. "Never set eyes on you myself, from the day you left Magdalen till I ran up against you at the Alhambra the other evening. Awfully studious chap Macheson was at college," he added to the American girl. "Thought us chaps no end of rotters because we used to go the pace a bit. That's so, isn't it, Macheson?"

Macheson nodded.

"It is only the young who are really wise," he declared coolly. "As we grow older we make fools of ourselves inevitably, either fools or beasts, according to our proclivities. Then we begin to enjoy ourselves."

The girl by his side laughed.

"I guess you don't mean that," she said. "It sounds smart, but it's real horrid. How old are you, Mr. Macheson?"

"Older than I look and younger than I feel," he answered, gazing into his empty gla.s.s.

"Have you found what you call your proclivities?" she asked.

"I am searching for them," Macheson answered. "The trouble is one doesn't know whether to dig or to climb."

"Why should one search at all?" the other man asked, drawing out a gold cigarette case from his trousers pocket, and carefully selecting a cigarette. "Life comes easiest to those who go blindfold. I've got a brother, private secretary to a Member of Parliament. He's got views about things, and he makes an awful f.a.g of life. What's the good of it!

He'll be an old man before he's made up his mind which way he wants to go. This sort of thing's good enough for me!"

The magnum had arrived, and Macheson lifted a foaming gla.s.s.

"Davenant," he declared, "you are a philosopher. We will drink to life as it comes! To life--as it comes!"

They none of them noticed the little break in his voice. A party of newcomers claimed their attention. Macheson, too, had seen them. He had seen her. Like a ghost at the feast, he sat quite motionless, his gla.s.s half raised in the air, the colour gone from his cheeks, his eyes set in a hard fast stare. Wilhelmina, in a plain black velvet gown, with a rope of pearls about her neck, her dark hair simply arranged about her pallid, distinguished face, was pa.s.sing down the room, followed closely by the Earl of Westerdean, Deyes, and Lady Peggy. Her first impulse had been to stop; a light sprang into her eyes, and a delicate spot of colour burned in her cheeks. Then her eyes fell upon his companions; she realized his surroundings. The colour went: the momentary hesitation was gone. She pa.s.sed on without recognition; Lady Peggy, after a curious glance, did the same. She whispered and laughed in Deyes' ear as they seated themselves at an adjacent table. He looked round behind her back and nodded, but Macheson did not appear to see him.

A momentary constraint fell upon the little party. The American young lady leaned over to ask Davenant who the newcomers were.

"The elder man," he said, "is the Earl of Westerdean, and the pretty fair woman Lady Margaret Pensh.o.r.e. The other woman is a Miss Thorpe-Hatton. Macheson probably knows more about them than I do!"

Macheson ignored the remark. He whispered something in his neighbour's ear, which made her laugh heartily. The temporary check to their merriment pa.s.sed away. Macheson was soon laughing and talking as much as any of them.

"Supper," he declared, "would be the most delightful meal of the day in any other country except England. In a quarter of an hour the lights will be out."

"But it is barbarous," Mademoiselle Rosine declared. "Ah! Monsieur Macheson, you should come to Paris! There it is that one may enjoy oneself."

"I will come," Macheson answered, "whenever you will take me."

She clapped her hands.

"Agreed," she cried. "I have finished rehearsing. I have a week's 'vacance.' We will go to Paris to-morrow, all four of us!"

"I'm on," Davenant declared promptly. "I was going anyway in a week or two."

Mademoiselle Rosine clapped her hands again.

"Bravo!" she cried. "And you, Mademoiselle?"

The girl hesitated. She glanced at Macheson.

"We will both come," Macheson declared. "Miss Merriam will do me the honour to go as my guest."

"We'll stay at the Vivandiere," Davenant said. "I've a pal there who knows the ropes right up to date. What about the two-twenty to-morrow?

We shall get there in time to change and have supper at Noyeau's."

"And afterwards--_au Rat Mort_----" Mademoiselle Rosine cried. "We will drink a gla.s.s of champagne with _cher_ Monsieur Francois."

Davenant raised his gla.s.s.

"One more toast, then, before the bally lights go out!" he exclaimed.

"To Paris--and our trip!"

Some one touched Macheson on the arm. He turned sharply round. Deyes was standing there. Tall and immaculately attired, there was something a little ghostly in the pallor of his worn, beardless face, with its many wrinkles and tired eyes.

"Forgive me for interrupting you, my dear fellow," he said. "We are having our coffee outside, just on the left there. Miss Thorpe-Hatton wants you to stop for a moment on your way out."

Macheson hesitated perceptibly. A dull flush of colour stained his cheek, fading away almost immediately. He set his teeth hard.

"I shall be very happy," he said, "to stop for a second."

Deyes bowed and turned away. The room now was almost in darkness, and the people were streaming out into the foyer. Macheson paid the bill and followed in the wake of the others. Seeing him approach alone, Wilhelmina welcomed him with a smile, and drew her skirts on one side to make room for him to sit down. He glanced doubtfully around. She raised her eyebrows.

"Your friends," she said, "are in no hurry. They can spare you for a moment."

There was nothing in her tone to indicate any surprise at finding him there, or in such company. She made a few casual remarks in her somewhat languid fashion, and recalled him to the recollection of Lady Peggy, who was to all appearance flirting desperately with Lord Westerdean. Deyes had strolled across to a neighbouring group, and was talking to a well-known actor. Wilhelmina leaned towards him.

"Has it ever occurred to you," she asked quietly, "that you left me a little abruptly the other afternoon?"

His eyes blazed into hers. He found it hard to emulate the quiet restraint of her tone and manner. It was a trick which he had never cultivated, never inherited, this playing with the pa.s.sions in kid gloves, this muzzling and harnessing of the emotions.

"You know why," he said.

She inclined her head ever so slightly to where his late companions were seated.

"And this?" she asked. "Am I responsible for this, too?"

He laughed shortly.

"It would never have occurred to me to suggest such a thing," he declared. "I am amusing myself a little. Why not?"

"Are you?" she asked calmly.

Her eyes drew his. He almost fancied that the quiver at the corners of her lips was of mirth.

"Somehow," she continued, "I am not sure of that. I watched you now and then in there. It seemed to me that you were playing a part--rather a ghastly part! There's nothing so wearisome, you know, as pretending to enjoy yourself."

"I had a headache to-night," he said, frowning.

She bent towards him.