‘Are you a judge of faces?’ asked the barrister after a moment.

‘Men of business have to be, to some extent,’ answered Logotheti.

‘So do lawyers.  What should you say was the matter with that one?’

It was impossible to doubt that he was speaking of the only abnormal head at the table, and Logotheti looked across the wide table at Mr. Feist for several seconds before he answered.

‘Drink,’ he said in an undertone, when he had finished his examination.

‘Yes.  Anything else?’

‘May go mad any day, I should think,’ observed Logotheti.

‘Do you know anything about him?’

‘Never saw him before.’

‘And we shall probably never see him again,’ said the Englishman.  ’That’s the worst of it.  One sees such heads occasionally, but one very rarely hears what becomes of them.’

The Greek did not care a straw what became of Mr. Feist’s head, for he was waiting to renew his conversation with Margaret.

Mustapha Pasha told her that she should go to Constantinople some day and sing to the Sultan, who would give her a pretty decoration in diamonds; and she laughed carelessly and answered that it might be very amusing.

‘I shall be very happy to show you the way,’ said the Pasha.  ’Whenever you have a fancy for the trip, promise to let me know.’

Margaret had no doubt that he was quite in earnest, and would enjoy the holiday vastly.  She was used to such kind offers and knew how to laugh at them, though she was very well aware that they were not made in jest.

‘I have a pretty little villa on the Bosphorus,’ said the Ambassador, ’If you should ever come to Constantinople it is at your disposal, with everything in it, as long as you care to use it.’

‘It’s too good of you!’ she answered.  ’But I have a small house of my own here which is very comfortable, and I like London.’

‘I know,’ answered the Pasha blandly; ’I only meant to suggest a little change.’

He smiled pleasantly, as if he had meant nothing, and there was a pause, of which Logotheti took advantage.

‘You are admirable,’ he said.

‘I have had much more magnificent invitations,’ she answered.  ’You once wished to give me your yacht as a present if I would only make a trip to Crete—­with a party of archaeologists!  An archduke once proposed to take me for a drive in a cab!’

‘If I remember,’ said Logotheti, ’I offered you the owner with the yacht.  But I fancy you thought me too “exotic,” as Countess Leven calls me.’

‘Oh, much!’ Margaret laughed again, and then lowered her voice, ’by the bye, who is she?’

’Lady Maud?  Didn’t you know her?  She is Lord Creedmore’s daughter, one of seven or eight, I believe.  She married a Russian in the diplomatic service, four years ago—­Count Leven—­but everybody here calls her Lady Maud.  She hadn’t a penny, for the Creedmores are poor.  Leven was supposed to be rich, but there are all sorts of stories about him, and he’s often hard up.  As for her, she always wears that black velvet gown, and I’ve been told that she has no other.  I fancy she gets a new one every year.  But people say—­’