But Pasquale’s subtle Italian brain was paying but half attention to me.  I could read his inferences from Judith’s observations, and I could tell what she wanted him to infer.  I seem to have worn my sensory system outside instead of inside my skin this evening.

“Ordeyne,” said he, “you are a pig, and the great-grandfather of pigs—­”

“Foul” cried Carlotta, seizing on an intelligible point of the conversation.

“Why didn’t you present me to Mrs. Mainwaring in 1894.?  I declare I have thought myself allied to that man for twenty years in bonds of the most intimate friendship, and he has never so much as mentioned you to me.”

“Seer Marcous says that Pasquale is a bad lot,” remarked Carlotta, with an air of sapience, after a sip of orangeade, a revolting beverage which she loves to drink at her meals.

Pasquale threw back his handsome head and laughed again like the chartered libertine he is, and Judith smiled.

“‘Out of the mouths of babes, etc.,"’ said I, apologetically.

“In all seriousness,” said Pasquale to Judith, “I had no idea that any one was such a close friend of Ordeyne’s.”

Judith turned to me, with a graceful gesture of her shoulders.

“I think we have been close friends, Marcus?”

“Oh, ye-es,” broke in Carlotta.  “Mrs. Mainwaring has the picture of Seer Marcous in her bedroom, and there is the picture of Mrs. Mainwaring in our drawing-room.  You have not seen it?  But yes.  You have not recognised it, Pasquale?  Mrs. Mainwaring is so pretty tonight.  Much prettier than the photograph.  Yes, you are so pretty.  I would like to put you on the mantel-piece as an ornament instead of the picture.”

“May I be allowed to endorse Carlotta’s sentiment of appreciation?” I said, with a view to covering her indiscretion, for I saw a flash of conjecture in Pasquale’s eyes and a sudden spot of real red in Judith’s cheeks.  She had evidently desired to suggest an old claim on my regard, but to have it based on such intimate details as the enshrining of my photograph was not to her fancy.

“I am vastly beholden to you both,” said Judith, who has a graceful way of receiving compliments.  “But,” turning to Pasquale, “we have travelled far from Abyssinia.”

“To Sir Marcus’s mantel-piece.  Suppose we stay there.”

“There is you and me and Mrs. Mainwaring,” said the literal Carlotta, “and I am the big one in the middle.  It was made big—­ big,” she added, extending her arms in her exaggerating way.  “I was wearing this dress.”

“Mr. Pasquale and I will have to enlarge our frames, Marcus,” said Judith, “or we shall be jealous.  We shall have to make common cause together.”

“We will declare an inoffensive alliance,” laughed Pasquale.

“Offensive if you like,” said Judith.

It may have been some effect of the glitter of lights, but I vow I saw a swift interchange of glances.  Pasquale immediately turned to Carlotta with a jesting remark, and Judith engaged me in conversation on our old days in Rome.  Suddenly she swerved from the topic, and leaning forward, indicated our companions with an imperceptible motion of her head.