“That’s a poor compliment to me,” he said “To be bored is surely only a polite way of being inane.”

Lady Bramfell smiled.  “What!” she exclaimed.  “You defending your social reputation?”

Loder laughed a little.  “The smaller it is, the more defending it needs,” he replied.

Another stream of arrivals swept by them as he spoke; Eve smiled at their hostess and moved across the room, and he perforce followed.  As he gained her side, the little court about Lady Bramfell was left well in the rear, the great throng at the farther end of the room was not yet reached, and for the moment they were practically alone.

There was a certain uneasiness in that moment of companionship.  It seemed to him that Eve wished to speak, but hesitated.  Once or twice she opened and closed the fan that she was carrying, then at last, as if by an effort, she turned and looked at him.

“Why were you so cold to Bobby Blessington?” she asked.  “Doesn’t it seem discourteous to ignore him as you did?”

Her manner was subdued.  It was not the annoyed manner that one uses to a man when he has behaved ill; it was the explanatory tone one might adopt towards an incorrigible child.  Loder felt this; but the gist of a remark always came to him first, its mode of expression later.  The fact that it was Blessington whom he had encountered—­Blessington to whom he had spoken with vague politeness—­came to him with a sense of unpleasantness.  He was not to blame in the matter, nevertheless he blamed himself.  He was annoyed that, he should have made the slip in Eve’s presence.

They were moving forward, nearing the press of people in the second room, when Eve spoke, and the fact filled him with an added sense of annoyance.  People smiled and bowed to her from every side; one woman leaned forward as they passed and whispered something in her ear.  Again the sensation of futility and vexation filled him; again he realized how palpable was the place she held in the world.  Then, as his feelings reached their height and speech seemed forced upon him, a small man with a round face, catching a glimpse of Eve, darted from a circle of people gathered in one of the windows and came quickly towards them.

With an unjust touch of irritation he recognized Lord Bramfell.

Again the sense of Eve’s aloofness stung him as their host approached.  In another moment she would be lost to him among this throng of strangers—­claimed by them as by right.

“Eve—­” he said, involuntarily and under his breath.

She half paused and turned towards him.  “Yes?” she said; and he wondered if it was his imagination that made the word sound slightly eager.

“About that matter of Blessington—­” he began.  Then he stopped, Bramfell had reached them.

The little man came up smiling and with an outstretched hand.  “There’s no penalty for separating husband and wife, is there, Mrs. Chilcote?  How are you, Chilcote?” He turned from one to the other with the quick, noiseless manner that always characterized him.