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She heard a step on the stairs. The woman in the blue dress was coming down again. She had a black satin cloak round her.

“Christopher, darling,” she cried, “is that you? I’m beautifully punctual.”

He went up to her and kissed her hand. There was something charming in the courtliness of his manner. Miss Mason, who had been momentarily shocked by the “darling,” felt it somehow explained by the subsequent action.

“One moment, and I’ll come,” said the woman.

She crossed to Miss Mason. The man waited for her.

“I shan’t be home till midnight,” she said, “and I’m leaving for Italy at an unearthly hour to-morrow morning. But I am sure one day we shall meet again. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Miss Mason. “Hope you’ll enjoy yourself.” She longed to say something more, but the words failed her.

She watched her rejoin the man and leave the lounge. It seemed extraordinarily empty after her departure.

“Don’t suppose she’ll ever lack friends,” said Miss Mason to herself, “but if ever she did need one——” She left the rest of the sentence unspoken in her mind, and finding the place a little lonely went up to her own room.