Trained in the consciousness of regard, the woman they discussed looked across at them as Blake ceased, and the flicker of a smile touched her lips—­a smile of interest in which there lurked no hint of invitation.

“Ah, wasn’t I right!  She discriminates—­our auburn lady!  We’ll see something interesting before the night is out, mark my words!”

They half forgot her and her possible story in the hour that followed, though Max noted that the woman who wanders from party to party at the Rat Mort, distributing roses, paused twice by her table and spoke to her, each time departing without unburdening herself of her wares; also, he noted that the pallid little Spaniard, who had been scattering his attentions among the ladies unprovided with companions, came and bowed before her, and that, contrary to her impression of aloofness, she rose and danced a waltz with him.

At this episode of the dance, Blake’s eyes as well as the boy’s were attracted; and, as she glided up and down between the tables, cool, unmoved, seemingly indifferent to the world about her, his interest reawakened, and he cast a sidelong glance at Max.

“Wait!” he said.  “When you see that guarded look in a woman’s eyes, you may always know she’s expecting something.”

Even as he spoke, she returned to her solitary table, dismissing the Spaniard with an inclination of the head and, as she seated herself, both observers saw a change pass over her face—­saw her gaze narrow and turn toward the door—­saw a faint flush touch her cheeks and recede, leaving them paler than before.

It was a controlled emotion, almost imperceptible—­differing in essence from either the latent violence of the woman Lize or the artless impulsiveness of the little Jacqueline; but with certain intuition it sent Max’s glance winging to the door of the supper-room, assured that some issue in the subtle war of sex was about to be fought out.

A new party was entering the room—­a small dark Parisienne, bringing in her wake two Englishmen—­one brown—­the other fair, with the accepted Saxon fairness.

Down the long room the little lady came, ushered by obsequious waiters, the recipient of many glances, admiring or envious; close behind her followed the brown-haired Englishman and, a little in the rear, her second cavalier—­reserved of demeanor, distinguished of carriage, obviously upholding the tradition of sang-froid that clings to his countrymen.

Max’s instinct was fully awake now; and when, in passing her table, the fair man inclined his head to the auburn-haired lady, the matter merely fitted with his expectations.

What brief emotional past lay in the mists of the unknown, linking this woman to this man?  Nothing was to be read from her face—­no expression of pleasure, none of chagrin; but in her half-veiled eyes a certain brilliance was observable and her long, white fingers began softly to drum upon the table in time to the music.