other guests were to be, and that dinner was at half-past eight, she
waddled upstairs, looking remarkably like Guillaume le Conquérant in her
grey dress, and went to sleep.

Lady Kingsmead had a cup of Bovril, which she had been told was
excellent for the complexion (although as her complexion was always
carefully concealed from the eye of man, also from the far more piercing
one of woman, it may be asked why she considered it). Then she had her
maid lock her dressing-room door, and give her an hour's facial massage.

At seven Joyselle arrived, and she was told that he had arrived.

"Ask Mr. Joyselle to come to my boudoir, Burton."

"Very good, my lady."

When Joyselle was ushered in he found a beautiful person in a lacy white
tea-gown reading Maeterlinck on a satin _chaise-longue_.

He kissed her hand.

"I am glad to have an opportunity of seeing you, Lady Kingsmead," he
began abruptly, fixing his dark eyes on hers. "Our little private
correspondence has, I trust, been as pleasing to you as it has to me?"

"I have greatly enjoyed it."

"I am delighted. And they, the _fiancés_, know nothing of it?"

"Of course not, Monsieur Joyselle." Her ladyship bowed with some dignity