ii

It had been cleared so as to provide ample floor-space for the guests. At the piano sat one man and by his side another who played upon a banjo. Both were in evening dress. A sportive young fellow had been adding to the noise by clashing tongs and fire-shovel together. About twenty people were in the studio altogether, of whom only a few of the men wore dinner jackets; and the dancing had not long been in progress. It was not yet a rowdy party, although it might later develop into one when the character of the music and the stimulation of the common movement should have had their effect. The studio walls rose high above the moving figures; and the place was quite different from what it had been when Edgar had seen it before. All that æsthetic blending of colour which he had noticed was now reduced. It was a large bare place, the chairs and divans withdrawn to the walls, and the decoration subdued. Hangings and rugs were gone: the walls were adorned only with casually hung or pinned sketches. The place seemed lighter and more airy, but it was wholly out of key with Edgar's recollection. Nor were the guests recognisable to him in that first glimpse. Edgar smiled as he turned aside to Monty, and then he heard the music cease. There came a babble from all round him. It was now that Edgar's heart gave a slight stir, for he saw that Patricia, who sat with her late partner at the farther end of the studio, was looking in his direction. She wore a plain dark dress which emphasised her fairness and the whiteness of her skin; but he could not tell at that distance of what material the dress was made nor how Patricia looked, so strong was the light. Instantly Edgar was delighted that he had come. He felt nothing more intense than delight—nothing more possessive; but he was engrossed, and could hardly attend to what Monty was saying.

"I'll introduce you to one or two of the girls. The others won't interest you. And we'll get away presently and have a talk. That suit you?"

Again Edgar was aware of that appeal. It revived his sense of stiffness, for he could never have pleaded for himself as this man was doing. In distaste for Monty's suppleness, Edgar found also something which gave him sudden personal interest in the man. He saw him very truly in that instant, in a quick glimpse. Monty was without pride. Therefore he was to be watched. Not merely treachery might arise, but insensitiveness, which upsets standards by unconsciousness that they exist. It was with a faint shrug that Edgar turned to be introduced to Rhoda Flower. Strange how instinctively contemptuous of suppleness an Englishman often is! Edgar did not under-rate Monty; but he despised him. Deep down, far below his awareness of judgment, lay the snorting epithet "Foreigner!" All his experience of life and his tolerance of moral defects could not annul that instinctive hostility to alien civilisation. Even while he was dancing with Rhoda, he was preoccupied with other perceptions. He did not speak; he hardly felt her there; but mechanically followed the rhythm of the dance.

Something awakened him. He could not dance with Rhoda without recognising her as a voluptuary; and he was interested in her from the knowledge that Rhoda's personality was, in spite of its mobility, surprisingly fixed for so young a girl as he supposed her to be. He looked sharply at his partner—at her black bobbed hair and her beautifully clear cheeks and eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about her face, and about the life which gave it constant vivacity of expression.

"I've seen you before, haven't I?" he said, frowning in the effort to remember.

"How clever of you!" cried Rhoda. A slow and delicious smile drew her lips apart, and revealed teeth yet whiter. In the plump but beautifully-moulded cheeks appeared dimples. Rhoda was languorously arch. "I wish I was clever!"

"Have you seen me before?" demanded Edgar. He could not resist the attraction to her, and he was smiling responsively; but he was still puzzled, thinking her face so familiar and yet so unfamiliar.

"How gallant you are!" teased Rhoda. "Isn't this a good tune?"

"Were you here at a party about six weeks ago?"

Rhoda laughed outright. Patricia, at that moment passing, opened her eyes wide. She had not hitherto recognised Edgar as a wit, and she took a peculiar interest in Rhoda Flower, so that her observation in this instance was made the more alert.

His doubts resolved, Edgar was at ease with Rhoda. He now recognised her as the girl who had been with Harry Greenlees at the first party, and who had left in his company at the end of the evening. He remembered her air of attentiveness to the young man who smiled so broadly. It was pleasant to recall this picture, because it was related to his first sight of Patricia. He looked round for Harry, who, however, was not present. Nor could he see Blanche Tallentyre; but some of the other faces were those of guests at the earlier gathering. The majority were unknown to him, and while their spirits seemed to be good, Edgar thought the company as a whole was a little inclined to be rakish. He was glad to be dancing with Rhoda, who, apart from Patricia, was the freshest among the girls. The men struck him as a poor lot. Now that he was used to the band Edgar no longer found it deafening. He was only a moderately-good dancer, because although he had a good ear and sufficient physical elasticity he was not especially interested in the exercise; but he could tell that his partner was both accurate and enthusiastic. She moved beautifully, with complete absorption in the dance. Moreover, he found her impudent cheerfulness delightful. He would have preferred only one other companion; and it was to this other that his glance flew whenever she was near. The flying glimpse was all Edgar had for a long time, for Rhoda was busily engaged during intervals between dances in trying to learn something about him by means of adroit questioning, while Patricia herself seemed to be quite content with her partners and to be elated by their obvious admiration.

Edgar was happy in Patricia's presence. He did not feel any immediate need to speak to her, and he was in some curious way too shy to wrest her from these other men. But into his glances there came presently a slightly anxious gravity, for he noticed differences in her, wrought by the month during which he had been absent from London, and these differences were unwelcome. An eye less keen would not have discerned them: Edgar himself could not have said wherein they were shown. At last, when Rhoda was momentarily engaged with somebody else, he went across the room to Patricia's side.