to the end of her cigarette. "As a matter of fact it was," he admitted.
She exhaled a long spiral of smoke and turned her head slightly so that she could survey him. "I'm trying to place you," she said. "I have a feeling you are probably a newspaper reporter."
She saw the flash of hiss teeth as he smiled. "Aren't you going to tell me why you think that?" he suggested.
She shook her head. "I shouldn't like to be rude," she said sweetly. "Are you a reporter?"
"No, fair lady. I'm a barrister."
He guessed that she was frowning.
"Oh!" she said. "A barrister."
"In the criminal court," nodded Amberley.
She got up abruptly. "That must be most interesting. I must go back to the ballroom; I'm engaged for this dance." She paused and he saw her lips curl scornfully. "May I compliment you on your costume? It suits you to perfection."
Mr. Amberley's shoulders shook slightly. He watched her walk away across the hall and wandered off in search of his cousin.
He had seen her go upstairs with an infatuated youth not long before. Mr. Amberley had a poor opinion of the youth, and saw nothing against interrupting the tete-atete and claiming Felicity for the dance which was undoubtedly his. He picked his way between the couples scattered on the staircase and reached the upper hall. It was as spacious as the one below, and had been provided with chairs and screens placed discreetly to form small sitting-out places. At one end was the broad staircase lit by a great window with many lights; at the other a graceful archway gave onto a wider passage that ran at right angles to it. Having reason to believe that his cousin was to be found in the picture gallery, which someone had said lay at the back of the house, Amberley went to the archway and glanced up and down the passage.
One end to the right of the arch was lit up; the other lay in shadow, as though to indicate that that portion of the house was not being used tonight. Amberley guessed that it led to the servants' quarters and the back stairs, and turned right.
The floor was carpeted in pile that deadened the sound of footsteps. Various doors, one labelled Ladies' Cloakroom, opened onto the passage at wide intervals; between them stood some obviously show pieces of furniture, very different from the massive mahogany that ruined the sitting room downstairs. Apparently the late Mr. Fountain had preferred the solid productions of his own period to these more graceful furnishings of an earlier age. Nor, it seemed, had his heir cared to banish the Victorian chairs and tables and cabinets in favour of these banished works of art.
Pictures in heavy gilt frames hung on the white walls. Mr. Amberley, something of a connoisseur, glanced up at them as he passed and presently came to a halt under a fine Reynolds. He was still standing thoughtfully surveying the picture when his host came out of the gallery at the end of the passage.
Fountain was in great spirits tonight; his enjoyment of' the ball was unaffected and immense. He had been circulating freely among his guests, an excellent host, anxious to make the party a success and contributing largely to the general gaiety by his own evident geniality and pleasure.
When he saw Amberley he at once came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "This won't do, this won't do, Mephistopheles," he said chaffingly. "Not dancing? Don't tell me you haven't got a partner!"
"I have. I was going in search of her when I stopped to look at your pictures. I envy you your collection."
"Do you?" said Fountain. "Not much in my line, I'm afraid. I've got some jolly fine sporting prints though, if you like them. In my study."
"I prefer this," answered Amberley, still looking up at the Reynolds. "Who was she?"
"My dear fellow, I haven't the foggiest idea! Some great-grandmother, I expect. Got the family beetle brows, hasn't she? Not a bad-looking wench. You ought to get on to my housekeeper. She knows much more about all these hoary ancestors than I
She exhaled a long spiral of smoke and turned her head slightly so that she could survey him. "I'm trying to place you," she said. "I have a feeling you are probably a newspaper reporter."
She saw the flash of hiss teeth as he smiled. "Aren't you going to tell me why you think that?" he suggested.
She shook her head. "I shouldn't like to be rude," she said sweetly. "Are you a reporter?"
"No, fair lady. I'm a barrister."
He guessed that she was frowning.
"Oh!" she said. "A barrister."
"In the criminal court," nodded Amberley.
She got up abruptly. "That must be most interesting. I must go back to the ballroom; I'm engaged for this dance." She paused and he saw her lips curl scornfully. "May I compliment you on your costume? It suits you to perfection."
Mr. Amberley's shoulders shook slightly. He watched her walk away across the hall and wandered off in search of his cousin.
He had seen her go upstairs with an infatuated youth not long before. Mr. Amberley had a poor opinion of the youth, and saw nothing against interrupting the tete-atete and claiming Felicity for the dance which was undoubtedly his. He picked his way between the couples scattered on the staircase and reached the upper hall. It was as spacious as the one below, and had been provided with chairs and screens placed discreetly to form small sitting-out places. At one end was the broad staircase lit by a great window with many lights; at the other a graceful archway gave onto a wider passage that ran at right angles to it. Having reason to believe that his cousin was to be found in the picture gallery, which someone had said lay at the back of the house, Amberley went to the archway and glanced up and down the passage.
One end to the right of the arch was lit up; the other lay in shadow, as though to indicate that that portion of the house was not being used tonight. Amberley guessed that it led to the servants' quarters and the back stairs, and turned right.
The floor was carpeted in pile that deadened the sound of footsteps. Various doors, one labelled Ladies' Cloakroom, opened onto the passage at wide intervals; between them stood some obviously show pieces of furniture, very different from the massive mahogany that ruined the sitting room downstairs. Apparently the late Mr. Fountain had preferred the solid productions of his own period to these more graceful furnishings of an earlier age. Nor, it seemed, had his heir cared to banish the Victorian chairs and tables and cabinets in favour of these banished works of art.
Pictures in heavy gilt frames hung on the white walls. Mr. Amberley, something of a connoisseur, glanced up at them as he passed and presently came to a halt under a fine Reynolds. He was still standing thoughtfully surveying the picture when his host came out of the gallery at the end of the passage.
Fountain was in great spirits tonight; his enjoyment of' the ball was unaffected and immense. He had been circulating freely among his guests, an excellent host, anxious to make the party a success and contributing largely to the general gaiety by his own evident geniality and pleasure.
When he saw Amberley he at once came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "This won't do, this won't do, Mephistopheles," he said chaffingly. "Not dancing? Don't tell me you haven't got a partner!"
"I have. I was going in search of her when I stopped to look at your pictures. I envy you your collection."
"Do you?" said Fountain. "Not much in my line, I'm afraid. I've got some jolly fine sporting prints though, if you like them. In my study."
"I prefer this," answered Amberley, still looking up at the Reynolds. "Who was she?"
"My dear fellow, I haven't the foggiest idea! Some great-grandmother, I expect. Got the family beetle brows, hasn't she? Not a bad-looking wench. You ought to get on to my housekeeper. She knows much more about all these hoary ancestors than I
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