A Question of Marriage. Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

powers of conversation, Mr. Gloucester, for before we met I was feeling terribly tired and bored; but I am afraid I must run away now. I arranged to leave at one o’clock, and I must be already in disgrace.”

      “I’m awfully grateful to you for having listened to me so kindly. I hope we shall meet again, and continue the conversation. I am staying with these people for a few weeks. They are old family friends. It’s the nearest approach to a home I have left.”

      “Thank you. I hope we may meet. I am only a guest in town like yourself, but I am making a longish stay.” Vanna led the way through the conservatory, walking with somewhat rapid footsteps, her eyes looking forward through the door leading into the ballroom. She had reached the centre of the floor when she was arrested by the sound of a laugh, and a light, flute-like voice breaking across the crash and clatter of the band.

      “Well!” cried the voice. “Have you come at last? I am waiting for you. How long must I wait?”

      Vanna wheeled round. Beneath the shade of a great palm tree, whose leaves swept the glass roof, stood Jean in her rose draperies, a wreath of roses crowning her dark head.

      “I am waiting!” she said once more, and her eyes, passing by Vanna, rested on Robert Gloucester’s face. Vanna looking at him, saw his teeth clench, and his cheeks pale beneath their tan.