He knew almost everyone on the floor; the women nodded to him, then stared coldly at his companion; the men too stared at her—­but not coldly—­and when they thought about it, which was seldom of late, nodded to him, and resumed their staring.

And Harleston did not wonder—­indeed, had it been otherwise, it would have argued a sudden paucity of appreciation on the part of the smart set there assembled.  For this slender young person in black, a small hat on her head, topping hair of flaming red, an exquisite figure and a charming pair of slender high-arched feet, was worth anyone’s staring, be it either coldly or with frank interest.  And she did not seem to know it; which in this day of smug and blatant personal appreciation of one’s good points—­feminine points—­is something of a rarity in the sex.  It may be, however that Madame X was fully aware of her beauty, but she was modest about it, or seemed to be; which amounts to the same thing.

They sat down at a remote table and Harleston ordered two cold drinks—­an apollinaris with a dash of lemon for her, a Jerry Hill for himself.  He noticed that the men were looking and wavering and he deliberately turned his chair around and gave them his back.  He had no objection to presenting the Lady of Peacock Alley to his men friends, but just at this time it was not convenient.  The adventure was rather unusual, and the lady altogether attractive and somewhat fascinating; he chose, for the present at least, to go it alone.  Moreover, they were to meet on a matter of her business and by her appointment.

He had suggested the dansant that he might study her.  And the more he saw of her, the more he was struck by her unaffected naturalness and apparent sincerity.  Not a word, not even a suggestion while they were dancing, of the matter of the cab; it was as though she were just an old friend.  And her dancing was a delight—­such a delight, indeed, that he was reluctant to have it end.  Somehow, one gets to know quickly one’s partner in the dansant.

“This is perfectly entrancing, Mr. Harleston,” she said presently, “but don’t you think we would better hunt a retired corner and discuss other matters?”

“If you will dine with me when we’ve discussed them,” he replied.

“It’s only six o’clock,” she smiled; “will the discussion take so long?”

“It depends somewhat on when you wish to dine, and somewhat on the character of the discussion.”

Her smile grew into a quiet, rippling laugh.

“Come along,” she answered.  “I’ve found a secluded nook in the big red-room downstairs.  It’s cozy and nice, and I’ve had the maid reserve it for me.  Afterwards,” with a sharp stab of her brown eyes, “I’ll decide whether I’ll dine with you.”

The place was as she had said, cozy and nice and secluded; and he put her into it—­where the subdued light would fall on her face.

“Very good, sir,” she smiled; “I am not afraid of the light.”