“Indeed it would,” Mary answered.  “Do let us go; we can perhaps move about a little, later, and I positively cannot breathe here now.”

They worked their way accordingly to the little boudoir Helen spoke of.  Their progress was not without incidents—­now an acquaintance, now a celebrity, now a woolly-haired princess, now a jewelled Oriental, met them as they went; but at last they turned out of the crowd and passed into a room nearly dark, quite empty, and cool.  “Nobody has found it out yet,” said Helen, sinking into a chair with a sigh of relief.

They remained silent, enjoying the quiet and fresh air.  A large window opening on a balcony occupied the greater part of one side of the room, and a glimmer of reflected light, and a murmur of voices, came from the windows of the great drawing-room which also opened to the balcony.  But both light and sound were subdued to the pleasantest softness, and the night-air was still and sweet; Mary’s seat was beside the window, Mrs. Churchill sat further back towards the middle of the room.

Presently there was a sound of steps on the balcony.  Helen moved impatiently.  “Somebody coming,” she murmured.

Mary involuntarily raised her hand as a sign that she should be silent; a voice had begun to speak which she recognized with surprise.  It was that of their acquaintance of the morning.  He was speaking in French, with a bad accent, and a voice which sounded even more disagreeable than it had done when he spoke to Helen.

“Bah! one can breathe here.  What a crowd!  And, my good friend, allow me to remind you that you are not doing your duty.  If you don’t look a little more sharply after our interest we shall quarrel.”

“What am I to do?” another voice answered, and this time the accent was perfect, and the tones marvellously harmonious.  “You bring me here, into this horrible crowd, where I am stifled, and I do not see what I can do except answer everybody who speaks to me, and try to look as if I were not longing to get away.”

“Do?” repeated the first.  “Why, pose a little.  I wish I had made you come in paint and feathers.  I believe my lady would have liked it better.”

They had been drawing nearer as they spoke, and now stepped into the room.  Bailey, who was first, passed Mary without seeing her, but the gleam of Mrs. Churchill’s dress caught his eye, and he paused abruptly.

Helen rose and moved a step towards him.

“Mr. Bailey,” she said graciously, “you must allow me to introduce myself to you now that chance has given me the opportunity.  I am Mrs. Churchill, and I am glad to be able to repeat my thanks for the service you did me this morning.”

Upon this Bailey came forward; he had had time to make himself pretty certain that nothing serious could have been overheard, and was ready to receive with rather florid politeness all the acknowledgments and civilities offered.