He had gone his way, and
held his own so far against all manner of onslaught. Just then he heard
himself called by name, and, looking up, found himself face to face
with Sybil Caroom.
"Mr. Brooks! Is it really you, then, at last?"
He set his teeth hard, but he could not keep the unusual colour from
his cheeks.
"It is really I, Lady Sybil. How do you do?"
Sybil was charming in a lilac-coloured dress and hat as fresh and dainty
as her own complexion. She looked straight into his eyes, and told him
that he ought to be ashamed of himself.
"Oh, it's not the least use your looking as though you were going to
edge away every moment," she declared, laughing. "I am going to keep
you for quite a long time, and make you tell me about everything."
"In which case, Lady Sybil," her escort remarked, good-humouredly, "you
will perhaps find a better use for me at some future time."
"How sweet of you," she answered, blandly. "Do you know Mr. Brooks?
Mr. Kingston Brooks, Lord Bertram. Mr. Brooks is a very old friend,
and I have so many questions I want to ask him."
Lord Bertram, a slim, aristocratic young man, raised his hat, and
glanced with some interest at the other man.
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