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In testing her power upon Leo Ulford she was secretly practising her siren's art, with a view that would have surprised and disgusted him, still more amazed him, had he known it. She was firing at the dummy in order that later she might make sure of hitting the living man. Leo Ulford was the dummy. The living man would be Fritz.

Robin looked at the statuette, and remembered what Sir Donald Ulford had said directly he saw it "Forgive me, that fan makes that statuette wicked." "Poor old Carey!" he murmured. His indignation at Carey's conduct, which had been hot, had nearly died away. "If I had told him what she said about him at supper!" he thought.

He was so intent on his own affairs that he paid no heed at all to his wife's, even when they might be said to be also his. Leo Ulford was becoming difficult to manage, and Lord Holme still gaily went his way. As Lady Holme thought over Sir Donald's words she felt a crushing weight of depression sink down upon her. The brougham rolled smoothly on through the lighted streets.

"But I don't care," she said, gathering resolution, and secretly calling, calling on the hidden woman, yet always with a doubt as to whether she was there in her place of concealment. "I don't care. I can't change my nature because of that. And surely surely there must be some men who prefer refinement to vulgarity, purity to " "Ulford, eh?" he interrupted.

He put his arm through Carey's, and they went out together. Lady Holme was generally agreeable to men. She was particularly charming to Leo Ulford that night. He was not an interesting man, but he seemed to interest her very much. They sat out together for a long time in the corner of a small drawing-room, far away from the music.

The elderly man, whose name was Sir Donald Ulford, made a movement as if to follow her, then cleared his throat and stood still looking after her. Lord Holme stuck out his under jaw. But Lady Cardington, the white-haired woman spoke to him softly, and he leaned over to her and replied. The sleek man, whose name was Mr. Bry, began to talk about Tschaikowsky to Mrs.

She wanted to hear the sound of the latch-key being put into the front door by Leo Ulford. It seemed to her as if that sound would be like the leit motif of her determination to govern, to take her own way, to strike a blow against the selfish egoism of men. After opening the door she sat down close to it and waited, listening. Some minutes passed.

He made a movement forward from the wall, but she immediately began to whisper to Leo Ulford, and after remaining for a moment in an attitude of angry hesitation he moved backward again. His face flushed scarlet. Lady Holme realised that he was making a fool of himself. She saw several pairs of eyes turned towards him, slight smiles appearing on several faces.

Wolfstein murmured a word to him in passing, and they had not been sipping their coffee for more than two or three minutes before he joined them with his son. Sir Donald came up at once to Lady Holme. "May I present my son to you, Lady Holme?" he said. "Certainly." "Leo, I wish to introduce you to Lady Holme." Leo Ulford bowed rather ungracefully.

"Your husk theory again. A question of looks. But you will grow old gracefully some day in the far future." "I don't think I shall grow old at all." "Then ?" "I think I shall die before that comes say at forty-five. I couldn't live with wrinkles all over my face. No, Robin, I couldn't. And look at Mrs. Ulford! perhaps an ear-trumpet set with opals." "What do the wrinkles matter?