ticklish encounter with other members of the cat tribe. In fact, he had just been disturbed by coming across the unexpected telegram, wherein Simmonds assured his lordship that the rejuvenated car would arrive at the College Green Hotel, Bristol, on Friday evening. At the very moment that he realized the imminence of Cynthia's disappearance into the void it was doubly disconcerting to be hailed by a woman who knew his world so intimately that it would be folly to smile vacantly at her presumed mistake.
Some glint of annoyance must have leaped to his eyes, for the lively countess glanced around with a mimic fright that testified to her skill as an actress.
"Good gracious!" she whispered, "have I given you away? I couldn't guess you were here under a nom de voyage--now, could I?--when that telegram has been staring at everybody for hours."
"You have misinterpreted my amazement, Lady Porthcawl," he said, spurred into self-possession by the hint at an intrigue. "I could not believe that time would turn back even for a pretty woman. You look younger than ever, though I have not seen you for----"
"Oh, hush!" she cried. "Don't spoil your nice speech by counting years. When did you arrive in England? Are you alone--really? You've grown quite a man in your jungles. Will you come to the lounge? I want ever so much to have a long talk with you. Mr. Ducrot is there--the financier, you know--but I have left him safely anchored alongside Maud Devar--a soft-furred old pussie who is clawing me now behind my back, I am sure. Have you ever met her? Wiggy Devar she was christened in Monte, because an excited German leaned over her at the tables one night and things happened to her coiffure. And to show you how broad-minded I am, I'll get her to bring downstairs the sweetest and daintiest American ingénue you'd find between here and Chicago, even if you went by way of Paris. Cynthia Vanrenen is her name, daughter of the Vanrenen. He made, not a pile, but a pyramid, out of Milwaukees. She is it--a pukka Gibson girl, quite ducky, with the dearest bit of an accent, and Mamma Devar is gadding around with her in a mo-car. Do come!"
Medenham was able to pick and choose where he listed in answering this hail of words.
"I'm awfully sorry," he said, "but the telegram I have just received affects all my plans. I must hurry away this instant. When will you be in town? Then I shall call, praying meanwhile that there may be no Ducrots or Devars there to blight a glorious gossip. If you bring me up to date as to affairs in Park Lane I'll reciprocate about the giddy equator. How--or perhaps I ought to say where--is Porthcawl?"
"In China," snapped her ladyship, fully alive to Medenham's polite evasion of her blandishments.
"By gad," he laughed, "that is a long way from Bournemouth. 

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