But he also flicked out the mean-looking card of which he had been hatefully conscious all the evening.

The Imp of Mischance arranged that as Miss Winwood stood close by his side, it should fall, unperceived by him, on the folds of her grey velvet train.

He wrote the Bloomsbury address and handed her the leaf torn from the pad.

She folded it up, moved away, turning back to smile.

As she turned she happened to look downward; then she stooped and picked the card from her dress.