“Gilman,” he answered, with a laugh.  “I only this instant recognised you.”

“Well, Mr. Gilman,” said Audrey, “will you oblige me very much by not recognising me?  I want us to be introduced.  I am most particularly anxious that no one should know I’m the same girl who helped you to jump off your yacht at Lousey Hard last year.”

And she moved quickly away.

CHAPTER XVIII

A DECISION

The entire company was sitting or standing round the table in the dining-room.  It was a table at which eight might have sat down to dinner with a fair amount of comfort; and perhaps thirty-eight now were successfully claiming an interest in it.  Not at the end, but about a third of the way down one side, Madame Foa brewed tea in a copper receptacle over a spirit lamp.  At the other extremity was a battalion of glasses, some syphons and some lofty bottles.  Except for a border of teacups and glasses the rest of the white expanse was empty, save that two silver biscuit boxes and a silver cigarette box wandered up and down it according to the needs of the community.  Audrey was sitting next to the Oriental musical critic, on her left, and on her right she had a beautiful stout woman who could speak nothing but Polish, but who expressed herself very clearly in the language of smiles, nods, and shrugs; to Audrey she seemed to be extremely romantic; the musical critic could converse somewhat in Polish, and occasionally he talked across Audrey to the Pole.  Several other languages were flying about.  The subject of discussion was feminism, chiefly as practised in England.  It was Miss Ingate who had begun it; her striking and peculiar appearance, and in particular her frock, had given importance to her lightest word.  People who comprehended naught of English listened to her entranced.  The host, who was among these, stood behind her in a state of ecstasy.  Her pale forehead reddened; her sardonic grin became deliciously self-conscious.  “I know I’m skidding,” she cried.  “I know I’m skidding.”

“What does she say?  Skeed—­skeed?” demanded the host.

Audrey interpreted.  Shouts of laughter!

“Oh!  These English!  These Englishwomen!” said the host.  “I adore them.  I adore them all.  They alone exist.”

“It’s vehy serious!” protested Miss Ingate.  “It’s vehy serious!”

“We shall go to London to-morrow, shan’t we, Winnie?” said Audrey across the table to her.

“Yes,” agreed Miss Ingate.  “I think we ought.  We’re as free as birds.  When the police have broken our arms we can come back to Paris to recover.  I shan’t feel comfortable until I’ve been and had my arm broken—­it’s vehy serious.”

“What does she say?  What is it that she says?” from the host.