“Ah, that’s just what I can’t tell you.  Lady Hartledon orders dinner to suit her engagements—­any time between six and nine!  I never know.  We are a fashionable couple, don’t you see?”

“Stay, though, Hartledon; I forget.  I have a business appointment for half-past eight.  Perhaps I can put it off.”

“Come up at six.  You’ll be all right, then, in any case.”

Lord Hartledon left the Temple, and sauntered towards home.  He had no engagement on hand—­nothing to kill time.  He and his wife were falling naturally into the way of—­as he had just cynically styled it—­fashionable people.  She went her way and he went his.

Many a cabman held up his hand or his whip; but in his present mood walking was agreeable to him:  why should he hurry home, when he had nothing on earth to do there?  So he stared here, and gazed there, and stopped to speak to this acquaintance, and walked a few steps with that, went into his club for ten minutes, and arrived home at last.

His wife’s carriage was at the door waiting for her.  She was bound on an expedition to Chiswick:  Lord Hartledon had declined it.  He met her hastening out as he entered, and she was looking very cross.

“How late you are going, Maude!”

“Yes, there has been a mistake,” she said peevishly, turning in with him to a small room they used as a breakfast-room.  “I have been waiting all this time for Lady Langton, and she, I find, has been waiting for me.  I’m now going round to take her up.  Oh, I have secured that opera-box, Val, but at an extravagant price, considering the little time that remains of the season.”

“What opera-box?”

“Didn’t I tell you?  It’s one I heard of yesterday.  I was not going again to put up with the wretched little box they palmed you off with.  I did tell you that.”

“It was the only one I could get, Maude:  there was no other choice.”

“Yes, I know.  Well, I have secured another for the rest of the season, and you must not talk about extravagance, please.”

“Very well,” said Val, with a smile.  “For what hour have you ordered dinner?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“Nine o’clock!  That’s awkward—­and late.”

“Why awkward?  You may have to wait for me even then.  It is impossible to say when we shall get home from Chiswick.  All the world will be there.”

“I have just asked Carr to dine with us, and told him to come at six.  I don’t fancy these hard-working men care to wait so long for their dinner.  And he has an appointment for half-past eight.”

The colour came flushing into Lady Hartledon’s face, an angry light into her eyes.

“You have asked Carr to dinner!  How dared you?”

Val looked up in quiet amazement.

“Dared!”

“Well—­yes.  Dared!”

“I do not understand you, Maude.  I suppose I may exercise the right of inviting a friend to dinner.”