When the “reception” was over and the company was breaking up into groups and moving about, Philip again sought Evelyn.  But she was the centre of a somewhat noisy group, and it was not easy to join it.

Yet it was something that he could feast his eyes on her and was rewarded by a look now and then that told him she was conscious of his presence.  Encouraged by this, he was making his way to her, when there was a movement towards the supper-room, and Mrs. Mavick had taken the arm of the Count de l’Auney, and the little lord was jauntily leading away Evelyn.  Philip had a pang of disgust and jealousy.  Evelyn was actually chatting with him and seemed amused.  Lord Montague was evidently laying himself out to please and exerting all the powers of his subtle humor and exploiting his newly acquired slang.  That Philip could hear as they moved past him.  “The brute!” Philip said to himself, with the injustice which always clouds the estimate of a lover of a rival whose accomplishments differ from his own.

In the supper-room, however, in the confusion and crowding of it, Philip at length found his opportunity to get to the side of Evelyn, whose smile showed him that he was welcome.  It was in that fortunate interval when Lord Montague was showing that devotion to women was not incompatible with careful attention to terrapin and champagne.  Philip was at once inspired to say: 

“How lovely it is!  Aren’t you tired?”

“Not at all.  Everybody is very kind, and some are very amusing.  I am learning a great deal,” and there was a quizzical look in her eyes, “about the world.”

“Well,” said Philip, “t’s all here.”

“I suppose so.  But do you know,” and there was quite an ingenuous blush in her cheeks as she said it, “it isn’t half so nice, Mr. Burnett, as a picnic in Zoar.”

“So you remember that?” Philip had not command of himself enough not to attempt the sentimental.

“You must think I have a weak memory,” she replied, with a laugh.  “And the story?  When shall we have it?”

“Soon, I hope.  And, Miss Mavick, I owe so much of it to you that I hope you will let me send you the very first copy from the press.”

“Will you?  And do you Of course I shall be pleased and” (making him a little curtsy) “honored, as one ought to say in this company.”

Lord Montague was evidently getting uneasy, for his attention was distracted from the occupation of feeding.

“No, don’t go Lord Montague, an old friend, Mr. Burnett.”

“Much pleased,” said his lordship, looking round rather inquiringly at the intruder.  “I can’t say much for the champagne—­ah, not bad, you know—­but I always said that your terrapin isn’t half so nasty as it looks.”  And his lordship laughed most good-humoredly, as if he were paying the American nation a deserved compliment.

“Yes,” said Philip, “we have to depend upon France for the champagne, but the terrapin is native.”