“You know a friend of mine,” he said.

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“Who is it?”

“Mrs. Ballantyne.”

He noticed at once a change in Mrs. Repton.  The frankness disappeared from her face; her eyes grew wary.

“I see,” she said slowly.  “I was wondering why I was placed next to you, for you are the lion of the evening and there are people here of more importance than myself.  I knew it wasn’t for my beaux yeux.”

She turned again to Thresk.

“So you know my Stella?”

“Yes.  I knew her in England before she came out here and married.  I have not, of course, seen her since.  I want you to tell me about her.”

Mrs. Repton looked him over with a careful scrutiny.

“Mrs. Carruthers has no doubt told you that she married very well.”

“Yes; and that Ballantyne is a remarkable man,” said Thresk.

Mrs. Repton nodded.

“Very well then?” she said, and her voice was a challenge.

“I am not contented,” Thresk replied.  Mrs. Repton turned her eyes to her plate and said demurely: 

“There might be more than one reason for that.”

Thresk abandoned all attempt to fence with her.  Mrs. Repton was not of those women who would lightly give their women-friends away.  Her phrase “my Stella” had, besides, revealed a world of love and championship.  Thresk warmed to her because of it.  He threw reticence to the winds.

“I am going to give you the real reason, Mrs. Repton.  I saw her photograph this afternoon on Mrs. Carruthers’ piano, and it left me wondering whether happiness could set so much character in a woman’s face.”

Mrs. Repton shrugged her shoulders.

“Some of us age quickly here.”

“Age was not the new thing which I read in that photograph.”

Mrs. Repton did not answer.  Only her eyes sounded him.  She seemed to be judging the stuff of which he was made.

“And if I doubted her happiness this afternoon I must doubt it still more now,” he continued.

“Why?” exclaimed Mrs. Repton.

“Because of your reticence, Mrs. Repton,” he answered.  “For you have been reticent.  You have been on guard.  I like you for it,” he added with a smile of genuine friendliness.  “May I say that?  But from the first moment when I mentioned Stella Ballantyne’s name you shouldered your musket.”

Mrs. Repton neither denied nor accepted his statement.  She kept looking at him and away from him as though she were still not sure of him, and at times she drew in her breath sharply, as though she had already taken upon herself some great responsibility and now regretted it.  In the end she turned to him abruptly.

“I am puzzled,” she cried.  “I think it’s strange that since you are Stella’s friend I knew nothing of that friendship—­nothing whatever.”

Thresk shrugged his shoulders.

“It is years since we met, as I told you.  She has new interests.”