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HE "drawing-room" that evening lacked not only distinction but animation as well. To begin with, the attendance was small. The Marchioness, after the usual collaboration with Julia in advance of the gathering, received a paltry half-dozen during the course of the evening. The Princess was there, and Count Antonio,—(he rarely missed coming), and the Hon. Mrs. Priestley-Duff. Lord Eric Temple and Lady Jane Thorne were missing, as were Prince Waldemar de Bosky, Count Wilhelm von Blitzen and the Countess du Bara. Extreme dulness prevailed. The Princess fell asleep, and, on being roused at a seasonable hour, declared that her eyes had been troubling her of late, so she kept them closed as much as possible on account of the lights.

Mrs. Priestley-Duff, being greatly out-of-sorts, caustically remarked that the proper way to treat bothersome eyes is to put them to bed in a sound-proof room.

Cricklewick yawned in the foyer. Moody yawned in the outer hall, and McFaddan in the pantry. The latter did not yawn luxuriously. There was something half-way about it.

"Why don't you 'ave it out?" inquired Moody, sympathetically, after solicitous inquiry. "They say the bloomin' things are the cause of all the rheumatism we're 'aving nowadays. Is it a wisdom tooth?"