standing on the pavement, waiting for their electric brougham.
"Yes!" she answered, dropping her voice a little, "in Frederic Mansions. By the bye, we are neighbours, I believe, are we not?"
"Quite close ones," Wrayson answered. "I live in the next block of flats."
The Baroness looked again over her shoulder.
"Your friend, Mr. Heneage, is close behind," she whispered, "and we are living so quietly, Louise and I, that we do not care for callers. Tell the man 'home' simply."
Wrayson obeyed, and the carriage glided off. Heneage had been within a few feet of them when they had started, and although his attention appeared to be elsewhere, the Baroness' caution was obviously justified. She leaned back amongst the cushions with a little sigh of relief.
"Mr. Wrayson," she inquired, "may I ask if Mr. Heneage is a particular friend of yours?"
Wrayson shook his head.
"I do not think that any man could call himself Heneage's particular friend," he answered. "He is exceedingly reticent about himself and his doings. He is a man whom none of us know much of."
The Baroness leaned a little forward.
"Mr. Heneage," she said slowly, "is associated in my mind with days and events which, just at present, both Louise and I are only anxious to forget. He may be everything that he should be. Perhaps I am prejudiced. But if I were you, I would have as little to do as possible with that man."
"We do not often meet," Wrayson answered, "and
