Wingate scarcely heard her.  His eyes were fixed upon the two men walking up the carpeted way from the restaurant.  One was Peter Phipps, the other Lord Dredlinton.  Flossie Lane, seeking to discover the cause of her companion’s abstraction, glanced in the same direction and recognised them at once.

“Why here is Lord Dredlinton!” she exclaimed.  “And Mr. Peter Phipps!  He is rather a dear person, Mr. Phipps, you know, although you don’t like him.”

“Is he!” Wingate observed grimly.

“They are coming to speak to us,” the young lady went on, shaking her skirts a little and glancing into the mirror which she had just drawn from her bag.  “What a bother!”

Lord Dredlinton, more dignified than usual but if possible still more unpleasant, threaded his way between the chairs and paused before the two, followed, a few spaces behind, by Phipps.

“Hullo, Flossie!” the former exclaimed.  “How are you, Wingate?  You got my letter?”

“I received your letter and also your telephone message,” Wingate replied stiffly.  “So far as I am concerned, the matter, as I told you, is at an end.”

“That’s all right, then.—­Flossie,” Dredlinton continued, looking reproachfully at the young woman whose hand he was still holding, “I told you last night that you ought to know better.  You should confine your attentions to the black sheep of the world, like me.  Dear me!” he went on, standing a little on one side so as not to conceal Wingate.  “My wife, apparently, has been lunching here.  Wingate, shall we form a screen in front of you, or are you content to be toppled from your pedestal?”

Wingate met the ill-natured sneer indifferently.  He even smiled as Phipps, standing on the outside of the little circle, also altered his position.  It was clearly the intention of both that Josephine should realise the situation.  Attracted by a gesture from her husband, she glanced across at them.  For a single moment she half hesitated.  There was a queer look in her eyes, a look of surprise mingled even with pain.  Then she flashed a brilliant smile upon Wingate, ignored her husband and Phipps, and passed on.

“Cut!” Lord Dredlinton exclaimed, with mock dismay.  “Cut, my friend Phipps!  Me, her husband, and you, her dear friend!  Really, it’s a most uncomfortable thing to have a disapproving wife going about to the same restaurants and places.  Let us go and sulk in a corner, Phipps, and leave this little comedy here to develop.  Farewell, faithless Flossie!  Wingate,” he concluded, shaking his head gravely, “you have disappointed me.”

They passed on.  The young lady tossed her head angrily.

“There are times,” she announced, “when I hate Lord Dredlinton.  I don’t know any one who can say such horrid things without being actually rude.  I’m sure his wife looks much too good for him,” she added generously.

Wingate’s nerves were all on edge.  He glanced at his watch and rose regretfully to his feet.