He waited until the music ceased and the dispersal of the dancers made the passage of the floor practicable, then he set off in her direction, trusting that he might find her niece in the vicinity.  Halfway down he stopped again; he had recognised his sister, who fanned herself languidly, seated on one of two chairs partially concealed by a great mass of exotic shrubbery, in pots, which formed almost an alcove.  She removed her long soft skirt, which she had thrown over the vacant seat, as he approached; and at this tacit invitation he accepted it.

“Only until the rightful owner comes,” he explained.  “But I see you so seldom now that I must not lose this chance.  I suppose you are keeping it for someone?”

“It is for Miss Masters,” said Mrs. Lightmark; “but she won’t want it yet.  She has just gone down to supper.”

“Ah, so much the better.  I want to see her.”

“Do you?” she asked indifferently.  “Well, you had better keep me company until she comes.  It is a long time since I saw you.”

He considered her for a moment with a heavy, fraternal appreciation.

“Yes,” he said—­“yes, it is a long time, Eve.  But, of course, we have each our own occupations, our own duties now.  And being the wife of a successful painter must involve almost as many as being—­if I may say so—­a fairly successful barrister.  Gratified as we are, my dear—­my mother and I—­at the success of your marriage, which has proved more brilliant even than we hoped, I must say that we often regret having lost you.  We are duller people, I fear, since you have left us.  However, we can still think of the old days, as you, no doubt, do sometimes.”

She gave a faint, little, elusive smile, behind her fan.

“Oh, I am afraid I have forgotten them,” she said.  Then she went on quickly, before he had time to reply:  “Another thing, too, I had almost forgotten—­to congratulate you—­on Mr. Humphrey’s death.”

“My dear Eve!” He looked at her with some reproof, with an air of finding her a little crude.  “You should not say such things, Eve!  I deeply deplore——­”

“Shouldn’t I?” she asked flippantly.  “Dick told me you were to succeed to his seat.  Isn’t it true?”

He ignored her question, busied himself with an obdurate button on his glove.  She watched him over her fan, half smiling, with her brilliant eyes.

“You are cynical,” he remarked at last.  “I dare say I shall get in.  Is Lightmark here?”

“Yes, he is here.  He has taken Mrs. Van der Gucht—­the American Petroleum Queen they call her, don’t they?—­down to supper.  She wants him to paint her portrait, at his own price.  He will be here to fetch me at half-past eleven.  I believe we have to move on then.”

“Move on?” he asked, with an air of mystification.

“Show ourselves at another house,” she replied.  “It’s a convenient practice, you know; one gets two advertisements in one night.  Besides, one saves one’s self a little that way; one sometimes gets an evening off.”