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had a horrid little jabbing pain in her mind.
    Cyril Brewster was a polite young man. He said, “May I have the pleasure?” and Gay said, “Yes,” and the music struck up again and they danced.
    It was a very efficient performance on Mr. Brewster’s part, but it lacked thrill. There was plenty of swing in the music, but what is the good of swing in the music if there isn’t any swing in your partner? Gay caught a glimpse of Sylvia floating in Algy’s arms. Sylvia really did float—like a cloud, like a wave, like a leaf in the wind.
    The crooner lifted up his voice and crooned:
    â€œYou’re mine this minute.
    That’s all that’s in it
    and there’s no limit
    To my ecstasy.”
    Cyril Brewster said, in the voice which indicated that a remark has been repeated for the second time,
    â€œHave you known Lady Colesborough for long?”
    â€œI’m so sorry,” said Gay—“I was thinking about something else. What did you say?”
    Mr. Brewster repeated his remark for the third time—patiently.
    â€œI said, ‘Have you known Lady Colesborough for long?’”
    â€œTwenty years,” said Gay, and then giggled because he looked as if he didn’t believe her. “She’s a cousin, you know, and we bit each other in the nursery—at least I did the biting and Sylvia did the kissing and making friends afterwards.”
    â€œShe must have been a lovely child,” said Cyril Brewster earnestly.
    â€œEveryone says so. I expect that was why I bit.”
    Cyril put his pince-nez straight. He did this constantly, but it never stayed put.
    â€œI have only met her three times,” he said, “I think she is extremely beautiful.”
    â€œEveryone thinks so,” said Gay firmly.
    â€œIt is unusual to find anyone with so many attractions. As a rule there is something lacking, but Lady Colesborough has everything. Of course, I do not know her well enough to speak of anything but externals. If it is possible to judge by those, her disposition should be as charming as her face.”
    â€œShe has a very amiable disposition,” said Gay.
    Algy was perfectly right. Brewster was a most efficient bore, and, like all bores, there was no stopping him. He wanted to talk about Sylvia, and he intended to talk about Sylvia. He went on talking about Sylvia.
    â€œThe first time I met her was not really a meeting at all. She was walking with Mrs. Wessex-Gardner, and I bowed—to Mrs. Wessex-Gardner. And the second time she was also walking in the park—”
    â€œWith Mrs. Wessex-Gardner?”
    â€œNo—she was alone, so of course I couldn’t bow. But tonight Mrs. Wessex-Gardner very kindly asked me to join her party, and I was introduced to her. As you are her cousin, perhaps you will tell me a little more about her. Is she a widow?”
    â€œCertainly not. She’s only been married for a year.”
    â€œAnd her husband?”
    â€œHe is Sir Francis Colesborough, because his father made a lot of money in—well, I think it was timber—and gave away parks, and playgrounds, and things, so they made him a baronet. He bought a most lovely old place called Cole Lester. I believe he bought it because of the name being like his own, and of course it belongs to Francis now.”
    â€œI see,” said Cyril. “And do they live there a good deal?”
    â€œI don’t think so. Sylvia likes London. She was brought up in the country, you know, so she’s had enough of it. Francis seems to go away a lot on business.”
    â€œAh, yes,—I suppose he would.” He went on talking about Sylvia and asking questions. The crooner’s voice came through again:
    â€œI’m feeling lazy.
    My mind’s all hazy
    Because I’m crazy
    With my ecstasy.”

VI
    It was rather a disappointing evening, because Algy when he came back would do nothing but talk about Sylvia too. Even in the