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"Oh, Maurice!" she gasped.

"Give me a kiss to take with me – perhaps to my death," he implored. The girl gave it, leaning over the narrow edge of her window. Nella Teano would have dared anything rather than refuse what might be a last request; yet the danger was great, and she started at sound of the lift. "What shall we do?" she gasped. "You mustn't be seen – "

But Morosini did not await the end of her sentence. For the girl's sake he must hide. Besides, he hoped to snatch another moment when the coast should be clear. With a bound he crossed the corridor, opened the door of 1313, and shut himself in. Meanwhile the manager, telephoning to the office from my room, had learned that the doctor he wished to get was in the hotel, just leaving a patient. Out hurried the manager to meet the doctor at the lift and discuss the case before returning to my room. That room, as fate would have it, happened to be on the other side of a narrow court, opposite 1313, the windows facing each other.

Poor Morosini had thought himself blessed by Heaven in his unhoped-for chance to see Nella. He still thought the same, as he stood inside the room across from the telephone bureau; but luck had turned. Hardly had the door closed upon Morosini, when the chambermaid crept back to lock number 1313, and regained the forgotten pass-key. Nella would desperately have called the girl, making some excuse, or, if worst came to worst, even telling her the truth. At that instant, however, the doctor came from the lift, to station himself in front of the telephone window. He could see the manager advancing, and so also could the maid. In fear of meeting this awe-inspiring personage again, she snatched the key with frenzy and fled, while Nella sat doomed to silence.

Morosini's first hint of trouble came with the grating of the key in the lock. He dared not try the door at the moment, for he could hear the voice of the manager. What could he do if Nella were unable to open the door? If there were a ledge or cornice running under the window, he might attempt to creep along it and find a way of descent by a fire escape. He had switched on a light, and had seen the window, covered with a dark blind, when a faint rattle of paper attracted his eyes to the door. A white envelope was being slipped underneath. Morosini seized it, and read in Nella's handwriting, "I'll try to get a pass-key and let you out, but can't tell how or when. Turn off the electricity. It can be seen through the transom."

Meanwhile, in my room, while I lay in a half-doze on the bed, the doctor listened to Teano's story of my sudden seizure. The medicine bottle was found and produced, and as I had mentioned my visit to Thorne, the detective could supply some information. The New York doctor got into communication with the Long Island man over the 'phone, and thus started the train which enabled us later to make valuable deductions. The bandaged patient had doubtless tampered with the bottle in the shelter of his automobile, and remained at the pharmacy until the return of his chauffeur. The nature of the added ingredient was discovered eventually by analysis; and had I taken one more of the doses directed by Dr. Thorne, nothing could have saved my life. As it was, the effects were temporary; and when some nauseous stuff had been poured down my throat, increasing the heart action, consciousness of surroundings came like the waking from a dream. Teano it was who had run out with the hotel doctor's prescription and returned with it made up. So great had been his haste that Nella's appeal detained him at her window only for an instant. He had no time to give help, for my life might depend on promptness, but he promised aid later.

As it was, the effect of his treatment satisfied the doctor. He stopped by my bedside till I crudely invited him to go, and let me sleep. All I needed to restore me was a night's rest. My presence in the hotel was not to be talked about, but the manager would look in from time to time, and call the doctor if needed. I slept fitfully, glad of the cool air blowing through the open window. Suddenly light struck my eyelids. I was roused with a start, and sat up in bed. My impression was that someone had come in and switched on the electricity. But the room was dark, save for a radiant circle on the wall at the foot of my bed. From a bright surface of crystal framed in gold, a woman's face looked out.

For a dazed second, I thought I had to do with a ghost. I realised that what I saw was the reflection of a reflection. My narrow bed stood with its back to the wall beside the window. Opposite the window, and therefore facing the foot of the bed, was a round mirror in a gilt frame. A dark blind had suddenly been thrown up, across the narrow court, and a woman, pausing before the glass in her room, sent into the dusk of mine her image. She was taking off her hat, looking at herself; and there she was fantastically, at the foot of my bed, for me to look at too. The effect was so extraordinary that it held me fascinated, until another woman came into the room.

When Maurice Morosini heard the sound of a key in the lock, it was music to his ears. He believed that at last (hours had gone) Nella found herself able to open his prison. But another second undeceived him. A voice was saying, "One moment, madam. Let me find the electric switch before you go in."

All the young man's blood seemed to flow back upon his heart. The thought in his mind was, that Nella would suffer disgrace. While a hand groped for the switch he flung himself on the floor, and crept under the bed.

"My moment will come," he reflected, "when the woman falls asleep. Then I can let myself out."

But the occupant for whom 1313 had been reserved was in no hurry for sleep. Morosini heard her moving about, and ventured to peep. He saw a small woman, young and rather pretty, of what might be classified as the "governess type." She did not undress, but seemed restless. Fussing round the room, she shot up the green blind and opened the window. Then she flew to the door. There had been a faint knock. Maurice peered from his hiding-place, and saw another woman come in. She, too, was plainly dressed, but older and with a harder, more experienced face.

"What can Nella be doing?" the trapped prisoner wondered. If she were still at the telephone bureau she must know that 1313 now had an occupant. Poor girl! Her misery must be equal to his.

Nella did know. She had seen the young woman go in. When no alarm followed, however, the girl's stopped heart beat again. But the situation had become impossible. She seized the first chance to call Teano. "It's too late for you to help, even if you could get in again," she whispered into the telephone, fearing to be overheard by some one passing. "A lady has gone into 1313 for the night. And I'm supposed to shut my window and go off duty in half an hour. Here comes Shannon, the night watchman, now."

As she spoke, a woman knocked at the door of 1313. Nella listened; soon she could hear voices speaking earnestly. Then they grew loud and shrill. "The women are quarrelling!" she thought. "Can it have anything to do with Maurice?" The transom snapped shut as she asked herself the question. The speakers were afraid of being overheard. That, at least, proved they believed themselves alone together!

"Well, here I am. I've given you time enough to make up your mind, haven't I, Miss Gibson?" began the new-comer.

"Yes, and I have made it up," answered the younger. "I don't say you're not acting in good faith. The note you brought to the dock looks like Mr. Odell's handwriting. And it's just as you said it would be. I found no letter of instructions waiting here. All the same, Miss Parsons, I won't give up the jewel till morning, when I've made sure the person I expected is not going to call."

"You are silly!" cried the other. "Now, how could I have known there was a jewel coming with a Miss Gibson on this ship, if I wasn't all right?"

"That's true," the younger woman admitted. "I don't see how you could have known except from Mr. Odell. But I'm not taking chances! If nobody else shows up before nine to-morrow morning, why then – "

"I have to go west to-morrow morning," explained Miss Parsons, her voice quivering with impatience. "I can't wait. I told you so on the dock. You must give me the thing now."

"I won't – so there!" shrilled Miss Gibson.

The older woman stared at the obstinate young face in desperate silence. Then she broke out fiercely, all effort at suppression over. "I believe you want me to bribe you!" And she pulled from a velvet handbag a roll of bank-notes.

Mary Gibson drew in her breath with a gasp. "Why– you've got hundreds and hundreds of dollars! I believe you're a fraud! You're after me to steal the jewel. Get out of this room, you thief, or I'll call – "

The sentence broke off with a queer gurgle. The woman who called herself Miss Parsons had snatched a long hatpin from the other girl's hat on the table, and stabbed Mary Gibson through the heart. She fell without a cry.

This was the tragedy mirrored on my wall at the foot of my bed. I saw the fall. I saw the murderess stoop; I saw her rise with something in her hand – something that gleamed green and blue, like a wonderful butterfly's wing. As I stumbled out of bed and groped for the dressing-gown which Teano had unpacked, I saw the woman tiptoe towards the door. Then a man's face came into the picture.

The murderess turned and saw the face also. But instead of trying to escape, she did a wiser thing. Wide open she flung the door and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help! Murder! A burglar has killed my friend!"

The big night watchman, who had paused on his round for a chat with Nella, seized Morosini as the Italian sprang on the woman at the threshold.

"Maurice!" shrieked Nella, betraying her secret, yet caring not at all. Her one thought was of the man she loved. "He's innocent. He came to see me, not to steal, or murder."

Morosini realised quickly how the case stood. He was lost if he could not get free, he thought. And so it might have been, if that lighted picture had not appeared on the wall at the crucial instant. I came tottering around the corner in time to shout:

"Don't let that woman go: she committed the murder. I saw it. I've enough evidence to convict her, and the jewel she did it for is in her hand now."

Miss Parsons stared at me like a mad creature, flung from her the Eye of Horus, and rushing back into the room of death, was out of the window before we could reach her.

Never before had the Priscilla Alden been smirched by scandal. The managers were in despair. But the suicide from a window on the thirteenth floor, and the story of my vision in the room opposite, combined with the romance of Nella and Morosini, attracted new clients instead of driving away the old.

"Miss Parsons," identified in death, proved to be an ex-convict, who had mysteriously disappeared from the ken of the police months before. Thanks, however, to that page of The World, missing from Dr. Thorne's office, her tragedy in an attempt to steal the Egyptian Eye of Horus carried me one step further on my own quest.

EPISODE IV
THE DEATH TRYST

For me, one of the strangest things in a strange world is this: the compelling influence exerted upon our lives by people apparently irrelevant, yet without whom the pattern of our destiny would be different.

Take the case of Anne Garth and her connection with Maida Odell – through Maida Odell, with me. Of my adventures in America while attempting to protect Maida, that in which Anne Garth played her part was among the most curious.

It happened while Paul Teano, the private detective, and I were trying our hardest to bring "Doctor Rameses" to book. We were morally certain that he was the Egyptian who had, for a mysterious reason of his own, persecuted the girl's family, and followed her (as its last surviving member) from Europe to New York. Unfortunately, however, a moral certainty and a certainty which can be proved are as far from one another as the poles. We might believe if we liked that "Doctor Rameses," controlling the Grey Sisterhood, intended evil to the girl who had been induced to join it: but it was "up to us" to prove the connection. So far as the police could learn, Doctor Rameses was as philanthropic as wise. If, as we suggested, his was the spirit guiding more than one criminal organisation in New York, he was the cleverest man at proving an alibi ever known to the force. If we reported his presence in a certain place at a certain time, he was invariably able to show that he had been somewhere else, engaged in innocent if not useful pursuits. As for Maida, her confidence in the veiled woman at the head of the Sisterhood was apparently unbroken. Judging from the little I could find out, she was irritatingly happy in her work among rescued women and children, at the lonely old house on Long Island. No doubt there were genuine cases cared for, which made it hard to prove anything crooked, especially to a girl so high-minded.

She had promised to remain for a year, and I had met her too late to change that determination. The rules of the House did not permit the sisters (of whom there were only six) to receive the visits of men, and though now and then I contrived to snatch a glimpse of Maida, seldom or never since our real parting had I had word from her except by letter. How could I be sure the letters were genuine?

While I was in the state of mind engendered by these difficulties, Teano rushed in one morning to say that he was off to Sing Sing. "There may be something for us," he said, and asked me to go with him. It seemed that the Head Sister had departed at dawn in her automobile from the Sisterhood House (Teano had someone always watching the place night and day, in these times), and "putting two and two together" he deduced that she might be en route for the prison. He had learned that a notorious woman criminal was coming out that day, after serving a heavy sentence. She had been a member of an international band of thieves; and if the head of the Grey Sisterhood intended to meet her, it could hardly be a case of "rescue."

"I know a 'con. man' whose time is up," Teano went on, "and I shall make an excuse of meeting him if I see the lady's head turned my way. The same excuse would do for you, my lord. 'Twon't matter putting the woman on her guard, for if she's going to meet Diamond Doll, they'll have met before we give 'em the chance to spot us and we'll know what we want to know."

I was keen on the expedition, and offered my car for it. We overtook the Head Sister, and our hearts bounded with hope: but, though we were able to follow in her wake all the way, our hopes were dashed by finding that she had come to "rescue" a person of a different class from buxom "Diamond Doll." The latter was met at the moment of release by a virtuous looking mother; and the tall grey form of the Head Sister advanced toward a small, shabby young woman who might have been a teacher in a Sunday-school.

The latter, unless she were a good actress, could hardly have feigned the start of astonishment with which she received the veiled lady's greeting. She had been glancing about as if she expected someone but that one was not the head of the Grey Sisterhood. She listened with reserve for a moment, then brightened visibly. She had rather a tragic face, as if she were born for suffering, and could not escape. Evidently, so far, she had not escaped; but she was young, not more than twenty-eight. Her oval face was pale with prison paleness, and there were shadows under the deep-set grey eyes which held no light of hope.

Why should the Head Sister single this girl out? If her object were charitable, there were other women being released who needed encouragement; yet it was to this one alone that help was offered.

As the veiled lady explained herself with the dignity of manner which had won Maida Odell's admiration, a young man joined the two, with an apologetic air. He had to be introduced to the Head Sister, and as he pulled off his cap I recognised a vague likeness between him and the girl.

His decent, ready-made clothes were of the country, and proclaimed themselves "Sunday best." His sunburnt complexion was of the country, and his shy, yet frank manners were of the country too.

The new-comer was out of breath, and apparently had hurried to make up time lost. He kissed the girl; and presently, without seeming to notice us, the Head Sister walked away with the two. She was favourably known to the prison authorities for her "kindness" in finding work for discharged women prisoners, and for her offers of shelter in the Sisterhood House till work could be found. If we had attempted to give warning against her, we should have been laughed at for our pains, and there was nothing we could do but play watchdog.

This we did, making ourselves inconspicuous, but not resorting to the pretext Teano had suggested. We let the "con. man" go off to face the world without a salutation, and devoted our attention to the friends of the Head Sister. It was only the girl who went with her in the closed automobile. The man bade them good-bye, but not with an air of sorrow. He looked grave as he set off for Ossining station, but satisfied rather than sad. Plainly it pleased him to think that the young woman had a powerful protector.

"Well?" I asked, when Teano and I had let the strapping figure stride out of sight: for the detective had been trying to unearth some memory of the girl's features. "Have you got her dug up?"

"Yes, milord," said the Italian, grinning at my way of putting it. "She'll be no use to the grey dame in any shady job. They say I have 'camera eyes.' When I see a face – or even a photograph – I don't forget. Anne Garth is the girl's name. She was not bad at heart."

"She doesn't look it," I said. "She'd be beautiful if she were fattened up and happy."

On our way back to Long Island Teano told me Anne Garth's story. She was a country girl, ambitious to become a nurse. Somehow she had worked her way up with credit in a New York hospital. There she had fallen in love with one of the younger doctors; and when his engagement to another woman was announced, she had waited for him outside the hospital one day, and shot him. The wound was not serious, but Anne Garth had spent two years in Sing Sing to pay for the luxury of inflicting it.

"Doran the doctor's name was," Teano remembered. "Not much doubt he flirted with the girl and made her believe he would marry her. She might have got off with a lighter sentence, but she wouldn't show regret. The jury thought her hard. She doesn't look hard to me, though! I expect the fellow we saw was the brother – her only relative, I recall the papers saying. Let me think! Didn't he have some job in the mountains? Something queer – something not usual! I can't bring it to mind. But it doesn't matter."

"I suppose not," I agreed. "Did Doran marry the other girl?"

Teano shook his head. "No," he said. "After what happened, she was afraid to trust him, or else – but there's no use guessing!"

I agreed again. Neither was there much use in "guessing" the Head Sister's object in taking Anne Garth into the Sisterhood House; but there might be more use in trying to find out. During the weeks that followed I did try, with Teano's help, but succeeded only in learning that Miss Garth was employed as a nurse. She was seen in the garden by Teano's watchers, wearing a nurse's dress, but she did not appear outside the gates.

A month later, I happened to hear talk of a fancy dress ball in honour of an Egyptian prince visiting America. He was a relative of the ex-Khedive, and being a handsome man with romantic eyes, was being made much of by more than one hostess. The ball was to be given by Mrs. Gorst, a rich "climber," a lady who was, I heard from Teano, one of the hypnotist Rameses' devoted patients. She lived in the fashionable new Dominion Hotel, where the ball would take place. Her guests would dance, newspapers announced, in the "magnificent Arabian room, so congenial in its Eastern decorations to the taste of the principal guest, Prince Murad Ali."

It occurred to me that Dr. Rameses was certain to be one of these guests. I did not know Mrs. Gorst, but I knew some of her friends, and to get an invitation was "easy as falling off a log." As it was only a fancy dress affair, and no masks were to be worn, if Rameses were present I ought to recognise him. I hoped to make sure whether he was or was not the man with the scar, who had frightened Maida Odell at the theatre on the night when I met, fell in love, and – lost her. Since that night I had discovered Doctor Rameses' existence and had seen him more than once, but without the clue of the scar it was impossible to identify a man seen for a few seconds only. If Rameses' throat bore the mark, there could no longer be room for doubt, and I determined to lay hands on him if necessary.

How I was to manage this, I didn't see: but that was a detail. I secured the card, and 'phoned to my old hotel in New York for a room. If I had dined there, everything that followed would have been different, but I went with the man who had got me invited (a friend of Odell's) to dine at his club. There I stopped till it was time to go back and rig myself up as a Knight Templar: and taking my key from one of the clerks I was told that a young lady had called.

"A young lady?" I echoed. My thoughts created a white and gold vision of Maida, but the clerk's next words broke it like a bubble.

"She was dressed as a nurse," he explained. "She wouldn't give her name; said you'd not know it – but she mentioned that she'd called first at your Long Island hotel. When she told them there that her errand was urgent they consented to give this address."

"The errand was urgent!" I felt my blood leap. After all, the vision might not have been so far-fetched. What if this woman were the nurse from Sisterhood House – Anne Garth, whom I had seen come out of prison – Anne Garth with a message for me from Maida?

"What did you tell her?" I asked.

"Well," the clerk hedged, "she seemed anxious to know where she could find you – insisted it was a matter of life and death, so I suggested you might be at Mrs. Gorst's ball for that Egyptian Prince."

My first impulse was of anger. The man was a fool, not to have known that I must come back to dress! But in a flash I realised that if he hadn't known, it was my fault. I had left no word when I went out at a quarter to eight.

"I may see or hear from her later," I said, holding out a hand for my key. With it, the clerk gave me an envelope – one of the hotel envelopes, sealed and containing a thing which felt like a small account book. It was addressed in pencil, evidently in haste. Inside the flap I caught sight of something else hurriedly pencilled, luckily discovering it as I tore the envelope, to extract a black-covered note-book. "I was going to write a letter," I read, "but I fear I'm watched. This is the best I can do, unless they let me in at the ball."

There was no signature, not even an initial.

I went up to my room, and opened the book under the light of a reading-lamp. Its contents suggested a diary, with a number of disjointed notes dashed down in pencil (the same handwriting as that inside the envelope) with many blank spaces.

"I never hoped for anything like this," were the only words on the first page, under the vague date, "Wednesday." On the next page was jotted: "It's like heaven after hell, and she is an angel. I never saw anyone so beautiful or sweet. Would she be as kind if she knew?"

"This must mean Maida," my heart said. Certainly it could not refer to the Head Sister! But, after all, how did I know that the "woman dressed like a nurse" was Anne Garth? So far, I merely surmised. Eagerly I turned over the leaves. Often the writer spoke of herself, or of things that had no special meaning for me. Then came a note which held my eyes. "I've confessed to her the truth. She says I was more sinned against than sinning. Heaven bless her! She has confided in me what is making her ill. The poor child suffers! I never heard of one as sane as she, having illusions. I suppose they are illusions. She can have no enemies."

Again, on the next page: "She has told me her history. What a strange one! She has enemies. But none of them can have got in here? I'm glad she has a love story. I pray it may have a happier end than mine."

A few blank leaves, and then: "There's a room with a locked door over hers. Nobody sleeps in it. I wonder why they keep it locked? I suppose it's a coincidence. If they wished her harm why should they send for a nurse to take care of her, when she isn't ill, except for dreams… A beautiful thing she said last night. 'I should die of horror if I didn't make his face come between me and the wicked face. His love saves me.' I envy her the saving love! Through mine I was lost. I wish I were allowed to sleep in her room. She wouldn't ask, because she thought it cowardly, but I did, and was refused. I'm needed at night for the children's room."

Further on, after more blanks: "It's against the rules for men to come here, but I saw a man going upstairs – or a ghost. They say there are ghosts in this house. A woman told me that the room over my sweet girl's is haunted. That's why it's locked. I wonder if the man-ghost was going to it? I wish it hadn't been dark in the hall, so I could have seen what he was like. He seemed a tall moving shadow."

Later: "I hope there's nothing wrong with my head! I was going to the room of our H.S. for orders. I thought the message was for me to tap at her door at nine o'clock, but before I had time to knock she came out and met me. She shut the door as she asked what I wanted – the first time she's spoken sharply! But I caught one glimpse of the room inside. Opposite the door, there's a picture of the desert by moonlight, and the Sphinx. It's in a carved black frame, set in the middle of a bookcase. The frame is part of the bookcase. But as I looked into the room this time – I didn't mean to look or spy – the picture of the Sphinx wasn't there. It seemed to have opened out like a door of a cabinet, and behind it was a white space with names and dates written in red. On top was a sign like an eye, and underneath I thought I saw the words, 'I watch, I wait.' Then came the dates. I can't be sure what they were, but I think the first was 1865. There was a General and a Captain, and a Madeleine or Margaret, all of the same name, which I think was Annesley. Anyhow, there were three dates and four names, and opposite the fourth name – that of my beautiful girl – was a question mark. A black line had been drawn through the other names as if they were done with, but there was no line through hers.

"It's queer how quickly one sees things – all in a flash. I'd only time to draw in my breath before the door of the room was closed, yet I kept the impression, as one goes on seeing the sun with one's eyes shut. Now, could I have imagined the whole thing? I did imagine things at night in my cell, but I knew they weren't there. They never seemed as real as this."

These notes, hastily pencilled, covered several of the blue-lined pages. There were more blanks; and then, in a shaky hand was written: "I'm frightened. I caught H.S. dropping something from a tiny bottle into the glass of milk on the tray I was getting ready to take upstairs. I'd turned my back to fetch a bunch of violets H.S. had brought in for me to put with the breakfast. I don't know if she knew I caught her, but she said she put phosferine for a tonic into the milk twice a week, and asked if I approved. Perhaps I oughtn't to say I 'caught' her. Perhaps it's all right. But if we had a cat in the house I'd have tried to make it drink the milk. I tasted it, and there was a faint bitter tang, yet phosferine would give that. I dared not drink more, because if anything were wrong, and I were ill or died, I couldn't protect her. But I poured out the milk and got fresh, in another glass, when I was sure H.S. was back in her study with the door shut. This can't go on. If anything is wrong, I mayn't be able to save her. And the fear is getting on my nerves. Yet I can't bear to give the poor child a warning. She has enough to worry about. All day this horrid thought has been in my head. Was I chosen because if she died, I could be blamed – a prison bird, with a black heart too full of evil to be reclaimed by kindness? If my darling girl will give me the name of the man who loves her and where he is, I'll make some excuse to get a day off – perhaps to meet my brother Larry – and tell her lover what has been going on."

This was the last entry in the book, and it gave me the certainty for which I groped. The nurse must have come from the Sisterhood House and from Maida; and – Maida cared for me more than I had made her confess.

I could hardly wait to get to the ball. My first object in going was forgotten in anxiety to find Anne Garth, to hear all she'd meant to tell me when she called, and missed me. It was still important – more than ever important, perhaps – to identify Dr. Rameses as a conspirator against Maida; but I could no longer concentrate my thoughts upon him. My fear was that Anne Garth might not have been admitted, lacking the card of invitation which every guest was asked to bring. But I judged that she would not give up easily. If her costume (which she might make pass as fancy dress) and her determination did not get her into the ballroom, I believed that she would think of some other plan.

Though the Dominion Hotel is new, its Arabian room is famous. It might be called "Aladdin's Cave," so gorgeous are its glimmering gold walls, and the stage jewels which star the ceiling and the gilded carvings of its boxes. Even its drapery is of gold tissue, embroidered with jewelled peacock feathers: its polished floor gleams like gold, reflecting thousands of golden lights, and its gold-framed panel-mirrors repeat again and again a golden vision. I was an early arrival, but there were many before me, because Prince Murad Ali had a reputation for un-oriental promptness, and lovers of pageants wished to see his entrance with his suite. If Doctor Rameses were present among the gorgeous groups scattered like bouquets about the ballroom, my most searching glances failed to pick him out. I had no intention of giving up the quest, however; and wishing to be independent I tried to evade my hostess's offer of pretty partners who "danced like angels." Unfortunately, as I thought, fortunately as it turned out, the lady conquered. I evaded a "Fox trot" on the plea that my wounded leg was too stiff: but I could not refuse to sit out with a countrywoman of mine, just over from England, who had "come to look on." We had known each other slightly at home, and I was obliged to sit through a dance telling Lady Mary Proudfit who people were.