At the corner of Grosvenor Square she met an old friend, one Colonel Lowerby, commonly called the Crow, and stopped to pick him up and take him on with her.

He was the one person she wanted to talk to at this juncture.  She had known him all her life, and was accustomed to prattle to him on all subjects.  He was always safe, and gruff, and honest.

“I have just done something so interesting, Crow,” she told him, as they went along towards Regent’s Park, to which sylvan spot she had directed her chauffeur, to be more free to talk in peace to her companion.  Some of her friends were capable of making scandals, even about the dear old Crow, she knew.

“And what have you done?” he asked.

“Of course you have heard the tale from Uncle Evermond, of Hector and the lady at Monte Carlo?”

He nodded.

“Well, there is not a word of truth in it; he is in love, though, with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life—­and I have just been to call upon her.  And to-morrow you have got to come to lunch to meet her—­and tell me what you think.”

“Very well,” said the Crow.  “I was feeding elsewhere, but I always obey you.  Continue your narrative.”

“I want you to tell me what to do, and how I can help them.”

“My dear child,” said the Crow, sententiously, as was his habit, “help them to what?  She is married, of course, or Hector would not be in love with her.  Do you want to help them to part or to meet? or to go to heaven or to hell? or to spend what Monica Ellerwood calls ’a Saturday to Monday amid rural scenery,’ which means both of those things one after the other!”

“Crow, dear, you are disagreeable,” said Lady Anningford, “and I have a cold in my head and cannot compete with you in words to-day.”

“Then say what you want, and I’ll listen.”

“Hector met them in Paris, it seems, and must have fallen wildly in love, because I have never seen him as he is now.”

“How is he?—­and who is ’them’?”

“Why, she and the husband, of course, and Hector is looking sad and distrait—­and has really begun to feel at last.”

“Serve him right!”

“Crow, you are insupportable!  Can you not see I am serious and want your help?”

“Fire away, then, my good child, and explain matters.  You are too vague!”

So she told him all she knew—­which was little enough; but she was eloquent upon Theodora’s beauty.

“She has the face of an angel,” she ended her description with.

“Always mistrust ’em,” interjected the Crow.

“Such a figure and the nicest manner, and she is in love with Hector, too, of course—­because she could not possibly help herself—­could she?—­if he is being lovely to her.”

“I have not your prejudiced eyes for him—­though Hector certainly is a decent fellow enough to look at,” allowed Colonel Lowerby.  “But all this does not get to what you want to do for them.”