a little surprised at this solicitude, and also at the friendliness they manifested. He was not altogether pleased that his mishap should be regarded as a conversational opening.
He recalled the manager's solicitude that morning, and it suddenly dawned upon him that his acquaintance with Lola Craven was responsible for his present importance. From various scraps of conversation he overheard, it was obvious that the arrival at Folkestone of the heiress whom the illustrated papers had combined to make famous, was a social event of the first magnitude and importance.
He noticed that the other guests would cease their conversation to gaze at her as she passed. Her entry into the dining-room caused a hush in the hum of conversation. Mr. Byles, the maître d'hôtel, would fidget about the entrance until she came down, then lead the way to her table and, for the rest of the meal, hover about in the neighbourhood with an eye so hawk-like in its penetrative intensity, that the waiter in attendance upon her would make mistakes. This was Mr. Byles's opportunity. He would swoop down, annihilate the underling with a glance, purr at him with restrained intensity, make good the damage, smile tactfully and withdraw.
From where he sat, Beresford had watched this little comedy. He also gleaned considerable amusement from the interest of his fellow-guests in Lola Craven; who herself seemed quite oblivious of the sensation her advent had created. The married men regarded her with surreptitious and hopeless admi-
