She was not surprised at it.  She assured herself of that.  At the very instant when she was saying to Mary Pole, across Philip Wayne’s white waistcoat, that she had always thought of endowed institutions of creative art as belonging to the races of weaker individual initiative—­at the very instant when she was saying that, she was repeating to herself that the directness, the high-handedness, and the success of this kind of exploit was exactly what she would have expected of Norrie Ford.  It was what she had expected of him—­in one form or another.  It was with a sense of inward pride that she remembered that her faith in him had never wavered, even though it was not until Conquest forced her that she had confessed the fact.  She glanced at Conquest across the table now and caught his eye.  He smiled at her and raised his glass, as though to drink to her health.  She smiled in return, daringly, triumphantly, as she would not have ventured to do an hour ago.  She could see him flush with pleasure—­a rare occurrence—­at her unusual graciousness, while she was only rejoicing in her escape from him.  Under the shadow of the tall man beside her, who had achieved the impossible in order to be loyal to her, she felt for the first time in her life that she had found a shelter.  It mattered nothing that he was engrossed with Mrs. Endsleigh Jarrott, and that, after the one glance, he had not turned toward her again; she was sure he knew that she understood him, and that he recognized her power to wait in patience to have the mystery explained.

In the drawing-room he was introduced to her.  Miss Jarrott led him up and made the presentation.

“Miss Strange, I want you to know Mr. Strange.  Now isn’t that funny?  You can’t think how many times I’ve thought how interesting it would be to see you two meet.  It’s so unusual to have the same name, especially when it’s such a strange name as yours.  There’s a pun.  I simply can’t help making them.  My brother says I inherited all the sense of humor in the family.  I don’t know why I do it, but I always see a joke.  Can you tell me why I do it?”

Neither Strange nor Miriam knew what replies they made, but a conversation of some sort went on for a minute or two, after which Miss Jarrott whisked him away to present him to some one else.  When he had gone Miriam was left with a feeling of spiritual chill.  While it was impossible to betray a previous acquaintance before Miss Jarrott, there had been nothing whatever in his bearing to respond to the recognition in hers.  There was something that might have been conveyed from mind to mind without risk, and he had not used the opportunity.  In as far as he addressed her at all it had been through Miss Jarrott, and he had looked around her and over her rather than directly into her eyes.

During the rest of the evening she caught glimpses of him only in the distance, talking now to one member of the family, now to another.  It was clear that Miss Jarrott was, in a way, showing him off, and that he was received as some one of importance.  She admired the coolness with which he carried himself, while her inherited instincts gave her a curious thrill of content that these law-making, law-keeping people should be duped.