“She is a beautiful creature,” said Jack Ellerwood, as if to himself, while he carefully surveyed Theodora from his position at the side of the table.

Hector Bracondale’s irritation rose.  Relations were tactless, and he felt sorry he had asked them.

“You must tell me her name, Hector,” pleaded Mrs. Ellerwood; “the very white, pretty one I mean.”

“Now just to punish your curiosity I shall do no such thing.”

“Hector, you are a pig.”

“Probably.”

“And so selfish.”

“Possibly.”

“Why mayn’t I know?  You set a light to all sorts of suspicions.”

“Doubly interesting for you, then.”

“Provoking wretch!”

“Don’t you think you would like some coffee?  The waiter is trying to hand you a cup.”

Mrs. Ellerwood laughed.  She knew there was no use teasing him further; but there were other means, and she must employ them.  Theodora had become the pivot upon which some of her world might turn.

The object of this solicitude was quite unconscious of the interest she had created.  She did not naturally think she could be of importance to any one.  Had she not been the youngest and snubbed always?

The same thought came to her that was conjuring the brain of Lord Bracondale:  would there be a chance to speak to-night, or must they each go their way in silence?  He meant to assist fate if he could, but having Monica Ellerwood there was a considerable drawback.

Mrs. McBride’s party were to take their coffee in one of the bosquets outside, and all got up from their table in a few minutes to go out.  They would have to pass the partie a trois, who were nearer the door.  Monica would take her most searching look at them, Lord Bracondale thought; now was the time for action.  So as Mrs. McBride came past with Captain Fitzgerald, he rose from his seat and greeted her.

“You have been exceedingly mean,” he whispered.  “What are you going to do for me to make up for it?”

The widow had a very soft spot in her heart for “Ce beau Bracondale,” as she called him, and when he pleaded like that she found him hard to resist.

“Come and see me to-morrow at twelve, and we will talk about it,” she said.

“To-morrow!” exclaimed Lord Bracondale; “but I want to talk to her to-night!”

“Get rid of your party, then, and join us for coffee,” and the widow smiled archly as she passed on.

Theodora bowed with grave sweetness as she also went by, and most of the others greeted Hector, while one woman stopped and told him she was going to have an automobile party in a day or two, and she hoped he would come.

When they had all gone on Mrs. Ellerwood said: 

“I wonder why Americans are so much smarter than we poor English?  I can’t bear them as a nation though, can you?”

“Yes,” said Lord Bracondale.  “I think the best friends I have in the world are American.  The women particularly are perfectly charming.  You feel all the time you are playing a game with really experienced adversaries, and it makes it interesting.  They are full of resource, and you know underneath you could never break their hearts.  I am not sure if they have any in their own country, but if so they turn into the most wonderful and exquisite bits of mechanism when they come to Europe.”