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 go; hustled him into a room adjoining, deposited him in the emptiest corner, ordered two sherries and angostura bitters, and straightway proceeded to show what comes of spending Saturday afternoon in places licensed by the Lord Chamberlain for stage performances.

"Do you know by any chance the girl who was Cinderella?"

Superfluous question to ask of Arminius Wingrove, we can tell you that. Are you not aware that the young person who played Cinderella had already captured all that was best in the life of the metropolis? What a question to ask Arminius Wingrove who knew every man, woman, and infant phenomenon worthy of regard, from Anna Maria, Duchess Dowager of Bayswater, to the ticket inspector on the Vauxhall trams.

"Know her? Of course I know her. And it was I who chose her first long-clothes for her." At least the air of bland surprise of Arminius Wingrove was open to that interpretation, although, of course, modesty would have restrained him from saying anything of the kind. "Everybody knows her—now."

"Didn't know she was famous," said the heir to the barony, limp as rags.

Arminius measured him in his naïveté, though not with the naked eye.

"Absolute nailer," said the heir to the barony.

All vieux jeu to Arminius W. Took out his watch—*