They all knew each other; others who arrived seemed to recognise with more or less intimacy everybody in the room excepting herself.

She was sitting apart by the crimson-curtained windows, perfectly self-possessed and rather interested in watching the arrivals of women whose names, as she caught them, suggested social positions which were vaguely familiar to her, when an exceedingly pretty girl detached herself from the increasing group and came across to where Valerie was sitting alone.

[Illustration:  “’May I sit here with you until she arrives?  I am Stephanie Swift.’”]

“I was wondering whether you had met any of the new committee,” she said pleasantly.

“I had expected to meet the Countess d’Enver here,” said Valerie, smiling.

The girl’s expression altered slightly, but she nodded amiably; “May I sit here with you until she arrives?  I am Stephanie Swift.”

Valerie said:  “It is very amiable of you.  I am Valerie West.”

Stephanie remained perfectly still for a moment; then, conscious that she was staring, calmly averted her gaze while the slow fire died out in her cheeks.  And in a moment she had decided: 

“I have heard so pleasantly about you through Mrs. Collis,” she said with perfect composure.  “You remember her, I think.”

Valerie, startled, lifted her brown eyes.  Then very quietly: 

“Mrs. Collis is very kind.  I remember her distinctly.”

“Mrs. Collis retains the most agreeable memories of meeting you....  I—­” she looked at Valerie, curiously—­“I have heard from others how charming and clever you are—­from Mr. Ogilvy?—­and Mr. Annan?”

“They are my friends,” said Valerie briefly.

“And Mr. Querida, and Mr. Burleson, and—­Mr. Neville.”

“They are my friends,” repeated Valerie....  After a second she added:  “They also employ me.”

Stephanie looked away:  “Your profession must be most interesting, Miss West.”

“Yes.”

“But—­exacting.”

“Very.”

Neither made any further effort.  A moment later, however, Helene d’Enver came in.  She knew some of the women very slightly, none intimately; and, catching sight of Valerie, she came across the room with a quick smile of recognition: 

“I’m dreadfully late, dear—­how do you do, Miss Swift”—­to Stephanie, who had risen.  And to Valerie:  “Mr. Ogilvy came; just as I had my furs on—­and you know how casually a man takes his leave when you’re in a tearing hurry!”

She laughed and took Valerie’s gloved hands in her own; and Stephanie, who had been looking at the latter, came to an abrupt conclusion that amazed her; and she heard herself saying: 

“It has been most interesting to meet you, Miss West.  I have heard of you so pleasantly that I had hoped to meet you some time.  And I hope I shall again.”

Valerie thanked her with a self-possession which she did not entirely feel, and turned away with Helene d’Enver.