"Mademoiselle Pavoya, this is Captain John Manners, just back from France: a cousin of the Duchess of Claremanagh\'s," said the manager who was introducing Jack.

Lyda Pavoya lifted her drooping head a little—only a little, and fixed upon Manners a pair of dark eyes. "A pair of dark eyes!" Simple words, and a simple act. There are many women in the world with dark eyes, and many had looked at John Manners. But these eyes of the Polish woman——!

As they gave that upward look from under heavy lashes Manners felt himself a traitor. He had heard all sorts of stories about Lyda Pavoya. He had got an impression that she was a "tigress woman." And then, the dancing that he had seen her do was wild and barbaric. But to-night she was a swan.

Her eyes were dark, but not black or even brown. They were perhaps a very deep, greenish grey, and extraordinarily luminous. Yes, that was the word: luminous! "Brilliant" would be too hard. There was a mysterious, moonlight sort of luminance between the black fringes of the white lids, and the whole face—pale, delicate, with pointed chin—was mysterious as only Polish or Russian faces are.

"Why does she look at me so?" Jack thought. It was almost as if she guessed, because he was Juliet\'s cousin, why he had asked for this introduction. He could not believe that she, who met so many people, could recognize the man in evening dress as the officer in khaki she had seen on the Phayre doorstep.

They were in a room at the theatre where Mademoiselle Pavoya received privileged persons: a plainly furnished room, mostly grey except for masses of flowers, and it suited her better than a background of fantastic colour. Perhaps it was this greyness which made her stand out so vividly, and seem of such vital, thrilling importance. She was extremely quiet in manner, and her voice was low. Yet her quietness was disturbing, like that of a summer night when lightning may leap from a clear sky.

Manners was struck dumb by her. Something had flashed from her eyes to his with that first look. It did not say merely, "I am a woman. You are a man." It said—or seemed to say—"You are the man. I am the woman. We had to meet. And now—what?"

He tried to think that this was a trick of hers which she used on every male worthy of her steel. But he could not believe it to be so. Her perfume—that perfume of an Eastern garden by moonlight—had gone to his head. No woman had ever produced such an effect upon him, though they had exchanged but a few words, and those not memorable. Yet he was not humiliated by his own surrender. In spite of all reason he was convinced that she had been stirred by him as he by her.

The meeting was between Pavoya\'s dances, and she had not many minutes to spare. Her manager had impressed upon Manners that the few she gave were an immense concession. There was no hope of prolonging them. Her call came. She had to go. Again eyes met with that shock to the nerves. Suddenly Lyda held out her hand to Jack. Clasping it, electricity flashed up his arm and stabbed at his heart. He felt her start slightly, and his breath quickened.

For Juliet\'s sake, and the promise he had made, it was Manners\' duty to take instant advantage of his "luck" with Pavoya. But he was not thinking about Juliet—or the promise. He was neither remorseful nor triumphant. All he thought of or wanted as they talked in snatches was to hold this woman, not to let her go till he had arranged to meet her again. He must meet her again! He must know what she really was—what they were to be in each other\'s lives. But he could not ask permission to call. He was stupidly tongue-tied, and could not put words together as he would have wished.

"Would you care to have supper with me at my house to-night?" she asked, not taking her hand from his.

The invitation was so unexpected that Jack could hardly believe it had been given. Yet he heard himself answering, "Yes, I should be delighted."

"I am glad," she said, in her perfect English, with the pretty accent that was part of her charm. "Perhaps you don\'t know where I live? I have taken a house, furnished: Mrs. Lloyd-Jackson\'s house on Park Avenue. You have been there? Supper will be at twelve. Till then——"

She was gone.

"By Jingo, you\'ve made a hit, my boy!" chuckled Pavoya\'s manager.

It was all Jack could do to detach himself from thoughts of Lyda, and go about Juliet\'s business between ten-forty and midnight. For the first time in his life the prospect of seeing Juliet was distasteful to him. He didn\'t want to see her, because she would ask him about Lyda Pavoya, and in his present mood there was nothing he would hate worse than discussing the Polish girl with his cousin. But he was as sorry for Juliet as ever, and just as anxious to help her.

Desperately against the grain, he took a taxi and drove to the Phayre house, which he found brilliantly lighted. The huge front looked so gay that for a moment he hoped Pat had come back. But he asked for the Duke, and was told gravely by Togo that His Grace was not at home. The Duchess, however, was expecting Captain Manners.

Juliet was waiting, not in her boudoir, but in the Chinese room which her father had loved. She no longer wore the dressing gown she had put on when nursing her headache in the afternoon, but was dazzling in some flame-coloured film over shot gold and purple tissue.

"You\'ve had good news!" Jack exclaimed at sight of her.

"No, I\'ve had none whatever," she said. "If possible, things are worse. I know why you thought something good had happened. All the lights, and this dress! But if you were a woman you\'d understand. I\'ve realized that there\'s a fight in front of me. I want it to be a silent battle. I don\'t wish people to know I\'m fighting at all—till I see what the end\'s likely to be."

"I do understand," Jack said. "You\'re a brave girl, and I believe the end will be all right."

He hurried on to talk about Pat, and thus put off the bad moment when she would question him about Pavoya. As nothing had been heard of the missing one and Juliet seemed now even more anxious than angry, Jack decided to confess having telephoned to all the hospitals. It was good news, he insisted, that these enquiries had drawn blank, and he did his best as a comforter by saying that Pat had probably gone off in a huff. People who loved each other flew into rages more easily than those who didn\'t care. Men of Pat\'s temperament didn\'t lie down quietly to be trampled on by their wives. He\'d write soon, or send word somehow when his first fury had exploded. Or, at worst, he would communicate with the bank, even if he didn\'t turn up for work there.

Meanwhile, however, Jack admitted that they mustn\'t let things slide and merely "hope for the best." Would Juliet like to have a detective engaged—a private one, of course—quietly to make enquiries, in the very unlikely case that something queer had happened?

"Yes, I was going to suggest that," Juliet said in a hard, bright voice which kept back tears. "What about that detective you spoke of—the one who was with Pat and Defasquelle at the club?"

Jack hesitated. "Well, I think we\'d better get a chap of our own. You see, possibly he was Pat\'s man, engaged for the—the pearl business. He mightn\'t be able to work for us with a whole heart——"

"I know what you mean," Juliet caught Manners up. "Pat\'s man may know where Pat really is, and lead us off the track, instead of on to it."

"It\'s just possible," Jack had to agree.

"Would you believe it," the girl veered abruptly to a new subject, "two reporters have called to interview me about the Inner Circle stuff?"

"Impudent beasts!" Manners lashed out. "Of course you didn\'t receive them?"

"Jack, I did!" said Juliet. "I\'ll tell you why. Here in the house I\'ve got more and more proof against Pat—or against that woman." Jack winced, but she was not looking at him: her eyes were full of tears. "Still, I\'m doing what you told me to do: I\'m giving him \'the benefit of the doubt.\' Besides—I\'ve my pride, just as Pat has his. There\'s my father\'s name. In its way that\'s as good as the name of Claremanagh, or all the dukes in Britain. I came to this room to-night because Dad loved it so, and I felt as if he were here in spirit, helping me to be strong. He was such a busy man, yet always he had time for me! I can almost hear his voice saying, \'Steady, Jule!\' as he used to say when I was in one of my wild moods. I had those newspapermen brought to me here. And I said to one what I said to the other. I admitted that I\'d seen the Inner Circle, and I supposed the horrid rag meant us. But I simply laughed at the whole thing! I told them Pavoya came to see me—something about her dance for the Armenians: you know, the roof-garden show Nancy Van Esten\'s getting up. I said the insinuation about the pearls was nonsense: that I\'m an expert, and that they\'re the realest things I ever saw. I talked about Pat as if we two were the best of friends, and mentioned just casually that he was away for a few days. I w............