“You are very flattering,” he said, smiling.

“Not in the least,” she assured him.  “Now-a-days birth seems to be rather a handicap than otherwise to the making of the right sort of people.  I am sure there are more impossibilities in the peerage than in the nouveaux riches.  I know heaps of people who because their names are in Debrett seem to think that manners are unnecessary, and that they have a sort of God-sent title to gentility.”

Brooks laughed.

“Why,” he said, “you are more than half a Radical.”

“It is your influence,” she said, demurely.

“It will soon pass away,” he sighed.  “To-morrow you will be back again amongst your friends.”

She sighed.

“Why do one’s friends bore one so much more than other people’s?” she exclaimed.

“When one thinks of it,” he remarked, “you must have been very bored here.  Why, for the last fortnight there have been no other visitors in the house.”

“There have been compensations,” she said.

“Tell me about them!” he begged.

She laughed up at him.

“If I were to say the occasional visits of Mr. Kingston Brooks, would you be conceited?”

“It would be like putting my vanity in a hothouse,” he answered, “but I would try and bear it.”

“Well, I will say it, then!”

He turned and looked at her with a sudden seriousness.  Some consciousness of the change in his mood seemed to be at once communicated to her.  Her eyes no longer met his.  She moved a little on one side and took up an ornament from an ormolu table.

“I wish that you meant it,” he murmured.

“I do!” she whispered, almost under her breath.

Brooks suddenly forgot many things, but Nemesis intervened.  There was the sound of much rustling of silken skirts, and—­Lady Caroom’s poodle, followed by herself, came round the angle of the drawing-room.

“My dear Sybil,” she exclaimed, “do come and tie Balfour’s ribbon for me.  Marie has no idea of making a bow spread itself out, and pink is so becoming to him.  Thanks, dear.  Where is our host?  I thought that I was late.”

Lord Arranmore entered as she spoke.  His evening dress, as usual, was of the most severely simple type.  To-night its sombreness was impressive.  With such a background his pallor seemed almost waxen-like.  He offered his arm to Lady Caroom.

“I was not sure,” he said, with a lightness which seemed natural enough, “whether to-night I might not have to dine alone whilst you poor people sat and played havoc with the shreds of my reputation.  Groves, the cabinet Johannesburg and the ’84 Heidsieck—­though I am afraid,” he added, looking down at his companion, “that not all the wine in my cellar could make this feast of farewells a cheerful one.”

“Farewell celebrations of all sorts are such a mistake,” Lady Caroom murmured.  “We have been so happy here too.”