St.James's Square--102.

All right'-- as Fenwick, colouring violently, stammered an acceptance--'we shall expect you.
Aurevoir! I'm afraid it's no good to ask _you_!' The last words were addressed smilingly to Watson, as Lord Findon, with outstretched hand, passed through the door, which Cuningham opened for him.
'Thank you,' said Watson, with a grave inclination--'I'm a hermit.' The door closed on a gay and handsome presence.

Lord Findon could not possibly have been accused of anything so ill-mannered as patronage.
But there was in his manner a certain consciousness of power--of vantage-ground; a certain breath of autocracy.

The face of Watson showed it as he returned to look closely into Fenwick's picture.
A few minutes later Fenwick found himself alone.

He stood in front of the picture, staring into Phoebe's eyes.