Philippa and Helen met in the drawing-room, a few minutes before eight that evening.

Philippa was wearing a new black dress, a model of simplicity to the untutored eye, but full of that undefinable appeal to the mysterious which even the greatest artist frequently fails to create out of any form of colour.

Some fancy had induced her to strip off her jewels at the last moment, and she wore no ornaments save a band of black velvet around her neck.

Helen looked at her curiously.
"Is this a fresh scheme for conquest, Philippa ?" she asked, as they stood together by the log fire.
Philippa unexpectedly flushed.
"I don't know what I was thinking about, really," she confessed.

"Is that the exact time, I wonder ?" "Two minutes to eight," Helen replied.
"Mr.Lessingham is always so punctual," Philippa murmured.