under the influence of lunch, coinciding with Rickmansworth’s dictum that girls rather liked making fools of themselves, and that Claudia was no better than the rest.  It was one of Eugene’s misfortunes that he could not cherish illusions about his friends, unless his feeling toward Stafford must be ranked as an illusion.  About the latter he had heard nothing, except for a short note from Sir Roderick, telling him that no tragedy of a violent character need now be feared.  He was anxious to see Ayre and learn what passed, but that gentleman had also vanished to recruit at a German bath after his arduous labors.

It was mid-November before any progress was made in the matter.  Eugene was in London, and so were very many people, for Parliament met in the autumn that year, and the season before Christmas was more active than usual.  He had met Haddington about the House, and congratulated him with a fervor and sincerity that had made the recipient of his blessings positively uneasy.  Why should Lane be so uncommonly glad to get rid of Kate? thought the happy man who had won her from him.  It really looked as if there were something more than met the eye.  Eugene detected this idea in Haddington’s mind, and it caused him keen amusement.  Kate also he had encountered, and their meeting had been marked by the ceremonious friendship demanded by the circumstances.  The flavor of diplomacy imparted to private life by these episodes had not, however, been strong enough to prevent Eugene being very bored.  He was growing from day to day less patient of Claudia’s invisibility, and he expressed his feeling very plainly one day to Rickmansworth, whom he happened to encounter in the outer lobby, as the noble lord was finding his way to the unwonted haunt of the House of Lords, thereto attracted by a debate on the proper precautions it behooved the nation to take against pleuro-pneumonia.

“Surprising,” he said, “what interesting subjects the old buffers get hold of now and then!  Come and hear ’em, old man.”

“The Lord forbid!” said Eugene.  “But I want to say a word to you, Rick, about Claudia.  I can’t stand this much longer.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Rickmansworth, “if I were you; but it isn’t my fault.”

“It’s absurd treating me like this because of Stafford’s affair.”

“Well, why don’t you go and call in Grosvenor Square?  She’s there with Aunt Julia.”

“I will.  Do you think she’ll see me?”

“My dear fellow, I don’t know; only if I wanted to see a girl, I bet she’d see me.”

Eugene smiled at his friend’s indomitable self-confidence, and let him fly to the arms of pleuro-pneumonia.  He then dispensed with his own presence in his branch of the Legislature, and took his way toward Grosvenor Square, where Lord Rickmansworth’s town house was.

Lady Claudia was not at home.  She had gone with her aunt earlier in the day to give Mr. Morewood a sitting.  Mr. Morewood was painting her portrait.