“Mrs. Gardner would like the name again, sir, please,” he remarked.

Tavernake repeated it firmly.

“You might say,” he added, “that I shall not detain her for more than a few minutes.”

The man disappeared once more.  When he returned, he indicated the lift to Tavernake.

“If you will go up to the fifth floor, sir,” he said, " Mrs. Gardner will see you.”

Tavernake found his courage almost leaving him as he knocked at the door of her rooms.  Her French maid ushered him into the little sitting-room, where, to his dismay, he found three men, one sitting on the table, the other two in easy-chairs.  Elizabeth, in a dress of pale blue satin, was standing before the mirror.  She turned round as Tavernake entered.

“Mr. Tavernake shall decide!” she exclaimed, waving her hand to him. " Mr. Tavernake, there is a difference of opinion about my earrings.  Major Post here,”—­she indicated a distinguished-looking elderly gentleman, with carefully trimmed beard and moustache, and an eyeglass attached to a thin band of black ribbon—­” Major Post wants me to wear turquoises.  I prefer my pearls.  Mr. Crease half agrees with me, but as he never agrees with any one, on principle, he hates to say so.  Mr. Faulkes is wavering.  You shall decide; you, I know, are one of those people who never waver.”

“I should wear the pearls,” Tavernake said.

Elizabeth made them a little courtesy.

“You see, my dear friends,” she declared, " you have to come to England, after all, to find a man who knows his own mind and speaks it without fear.  The pearls it shall be.”

“It may be decision,” Crease drawled, speaking with a slight American accent, “or it may be gallantry.  Mr. Tavernake knew your own choice.”

“The last word, as usual,” she sighed.  “Now, if you good people will kindly go on downstairs, I will join you in a few minutes.  Mr. Tavernake is my man of business and I am sure he has something to say to me.”

She dismissed them all pleasantly.  As soon as the door was closed she turned to Tavernake.  Her manner seemed to become a shade less gracious.

“Well?”

“I don’t know why I came,” Tavernake confessed bluntly.  “I was restless and I wanted to see you.”

She looked at him for a moment and then she laughed.  Tavernake felt a sense of relief; at least she was not angry.

“Oh, you strangest of mortals!” she exclaimed, holding out her hands.  “Well, you see me—­in one of my most becoming gowns, too.  What do you think of the fit?”

She swept round and faced him again with an expectant look.  Tavernake, who knew nothing of women’s fashions, still realized the superbness of that one unbroken line.

“I can’t think how you can move a step in it,” he said, “but you look—­”

He paused.  It was as though he had lost his breath.  Then he set his teeth and finished.