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Lady Anselman stood in the centre of the lounge at the Ritz Hotel and with a delicatelypoised forefinger counted her guests. There was the great French actress who had everycharm but youth, chatting vivaciously with a tall, pale-faced man whose French seemed tobe as perfect as his attitude was correct. The popular wife of a great actor was discussingher husband's latest play with a Cabinet Minister who had the air of a school-boy present atan illicit feast. A very beautiful young woman, tall and fair, with grey-blue eyes and a wealthof golden, almost yellow hair, was talking to a famous musician. A little further in thebackground, a young man in the uniform of a naval lieutenant was exchanging whatseemed to be rather impressive chaff with a petite but exceedingly good-looking girl. LadyAnselman counted them twice, glanced at the clock and frowned. I can't remember whom we are waiting for! she exclaimed a little helplessly to theremaining guest, a somewhat tired-looking publisher who stood by her side. I am oneshort. I dare say it will come to me in a minute. You know every one, I suppose, Mr.Daniell? The publisher shook his head. I have met Lord Romsey and also Madame Selarne, he observed. For the rest, I wasjust thinking what a stranger I felt.

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