better. "Who is it?"

"Kirkby-Lunn," my companion answered quickly. "Are you fond--"

She stopped. Her face was partly turned. I saw a glance of recognition
flash into her eyes and vanish instantly. Following the direction of her
glance, my gaze rested upon the strange, striking woman I had seen but
once but could not possibly forget. Mrs. Gastrell had just entered, and
with her, to my astonishment, Jack Osborne. It was Jasmine Gastrell with
whom my companion had exchanged that momentary glance of recognition.

"Are you fond of music?" Mrs. Stapleton asked, looking at me again.

"Very," I answered absently, "of music that is music."

For my attention had become suddenly distracted. How came this woman to
be here, this woman who called herself Gastrell's wife? Lord Easterton
was somewhere about, for I had seen him in the crowd. Such a striking
woman would be sure to attract his attention, he would inquire who she
was, he might even ask Gastrell, and then what would happen? What would
Gastrell say? Was the woman actually his wife, or was she--

Mechanically I conversed with my companion for a minute or two longer,
then suddenly she suggested that we should go.

"And let some of these starving people take our table," she added, as
she prepared to rise.

Osborne and his singularly lovely companion were now seated at a table
only a few yards off. His back was turned to us, and I had not caught