He still smiles as he says this, and looks expectantly at Sir Adrian, who, as in duty bound, instantly tells him he is very glad to see him, and that he is a good fellow to have come without waiting for a more formal repetition of his invitation.  Then he takes him over to old Lady FitzAlmont, the mother of Lady Gertrude Vining, and introduces him to her as “my cousin Mr. Dynecourt.”

The same ceremony is gone through with some of the others, but, when he brings him to Mrs. Talbot, that pretty widow interrupts his mode of introduction.

“Mr. Dynecourt and I are old friends,” she says, giving her hand to the new-comer.  Then, turning to her cousin, she adds, “Florence, is it not a fatality our meeting him so often?”

“Have we met so often?” asks Florence quietly, but with a touch of hauteur and dislike in her tone.  Then she too gives a cold little hand to Mr. Dynecourt, who lingers over it until she disdainfully draws it away, after which he turns from her abruptly and devotes himself to Dora Talbot.

The widow is glad of his attentions.  He is handsome and well-bred, and for the last half hour she has been feeling slightly bored; so eager has been the discussion about the Marlow matter, that she has been little sought after by the opposite sex.  And now, once again, the subject is being examined in all its bearings, and the discussion waxes fast and furious.

“What is it all about?” asks Arthur Dynecourt presently, glancing at the animated group in the middle of the room.  And Sir Adrian, hearing his question, explains it to him.

“Ah, indeed!” he says.  And then, after a scarcely perceptible pause—­“Who is to be Kate Hardcastle?”

“Miss Delmaine,” answers Sir Adrian, who is still leaning over that young lady’s chair.

“In what does the difficulty consist?” inquires Arthur Dynecourt, with apparent indifference.

“Well,” replies Sir Adrian, laughing; “I believe mere fear holds us back.  Miss Delmaine, as we all know, is a finished actress, and we dread spoiling her performance by faults on our side.  None of us have attempted the character before; this is why we hesitate.”

“A very sensible hesitation, I think,” says his cousin coolly.  “You should thank me then for coming to your relief this afternoon; I have played the part several times, and shall be delighted to undertake it again, and help you out of your difficulty.”

At this Miss Delmaine flushes angrily, and opens her lips as if she would say something, but, after a second’s reflection, restrains herself.  She sinks back into her chair with a proud languor, and closes her mouth resolutely.

Sir Adrian is confounded.  All along he had secretly hoped that, in the end, this part would fall to his lot; but now—­what is to be done?  How can he refuse to let his cousin take his place, especially as he has declared himself familiar with the part.

Arthur, observing his cousin’s hesitation, laughs aloud.  His is not a pleasant laugh, but has rather a sneering ring in it, and at the present moment it jars upon the ears of the listeners.