bon. He had telephoned to the florist's to send them to his chambers instead of to the Belle Vue.
Drewitt looked across at his cousin as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a man to send himself an elaborate bouquet. Selecting another cigarette, he proceeded to light it from the one he had only partially smoked. As he turned to throw the discarded cigarette into the fireplace, the door opened and the porter announced—
"Miss Craven."
At the sight of Drewitt, Lola started slightly, with a quick indrawing of her breath.
For a moment she stood looking from one to the other. Suddenly her eyes fell upon the flowers.
"How delicious," she cried, then turning to Drewitt she enquired mischievously, "Did you bring them, Lord Drewitt?"
"It is a time-honoured custom between Richard and myself," said Drewitt, "never to call upon each other unaccompanied by elaborate bouquets of this description. I was just asking him to lunch with me. Will you join us, Miss Craven?"
For a moment Lola looked irresolute, then turning to Beresford, said—
"Shall we, Richard?"
Beresford started at her easy use of his name.
"You see," she added, as if forcing herself to get the words out, "it will be something of a celebration. We—we are engaged." She was gazing fixedly at the flowers, her cheeks a-flame.
"I—I" began Beresford, firmly convinced
