Lady Derl had frequently drafted Lewis into dinners that she thought would be stupid for her without him.  As a result, the inevitable in London happened.  It became a habit to invite Lewis when Lady Derl was coming.  He never took her in,—­her rank and position made that impossible,—­but he was there, somewhere at the lower end of the table, where she could watch him when she felt bored and occasionally read in the astonished faces of his neighbors the devastation he had caused by some remark; for Lewis, like his father, had a way of saying things.  The difference was that Leighton’s mots were natural and malicious, while Lewis’s were only natural.  On the whole, Lewis created the greater sensation.

The night after Lewis had said “Almost any day now” to Vi, he found himself at a semi-diplomatic dinner next to a young person who, like himself, seemed to find the affair a bit heavy.

“What did they invite you for?” asked Lewis.

“They couldn’t help it,” replied the young person, stifling a yawn.  “I’m the wife of the charge of the Brazilian legation.  And you?”

“Oh, I’m here just to take Lady Derl home.”

The young person’s eyes showed a gleam of interest as they glanced up the table to where Lady Derl sat and reigned an easy queen in that assembly.

“Oh,” she said, “are you?  Why you?”

“Well,” said Lewis, “I suppose it’s because I’m the only man in town that always remembers Lady Derl’s beauty and gray hair at the same time.”

The young person smiled.

“I believe I’ve heard of you.  Leighton is your name, isn’t it?”

“It’s only five minutes since I was introduced,” said Lewis, smiling, “and you made me say it over three times.”

“Ah, yes,” said the lady, unperturbed, “but five minutes is a long time—­sometimes.  Is Leighton a common name?”

“Not as common as some,” said Lewis.  “Why?”

“Nothing, only I know some Leightons in Brazil.”

Lady Derl saw Lewis start, and quickly lay down his fork.  She watched in vain through the rest of that dinner for a conversational sensation at his end of the table.  When they were in the carriage and on the way home she asked: 

“Well, what was it?”

“What was what?” said Lewis, out of a reverie.

“What did that Senhora What’s-her-name have to tell you that made you forget to eat?”

“She was telling me about an old pal of mine,” said Lewis.  “Did dad ever tell you where he found me?”

“Yes,” said Lady Derl; “he said he found you in the geometrical center of nowhere, surrounded by equal parts of wilderness.”

“That’s what he thought,” said Lewis; “but there was a home tucked into the wilderness.  It had been my home for a great many years.  People had been kind to me there—­Mrs. Leighton; Natalie, my pal; an old darky named just mammy; and, in a way, the Reverend Orme.  After I’d been away a year, I wrote back.  They had gone.  I’ve just found out where they are, all but the Reverend Orme.  I reckon he must be dead.”