CHAPTER IV.
THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD "Nan, may I introduce Mr.Mallory ?" It was the evening of Kitty's little dinner--a cosy gathering of sympathetic souls, the majority of whom were more or less intimately known to each other.
"As you both have French blood in your veins, you can chant the Marseillaise in unison." And with a nod and smile Kitty passed on to where her husband was chatting with Ralph Fenton, the well-known baritone, and a couple of members of Parliament.

Each of them had cut a niche of his own in the world, for Kitty was discriminating in her taste, and the receptions at her house in Green Street were always duly seasoned with the spice of brains and talent.
As Nan looked up into the face of the man whose acquaintance she had already made in such curious fashion, the thought flashed through her mind that here, in his partly French blood was the explanation of his unusual colouring--black brows and lashes contrasting so oddly with the kinky fair hair which, despite the barber's periodical shearing and the fervent use of a stiff-bristled hair-brush, still insisted on springing into crisp waves over his head and refused to lie flat.
"What luck!" he exclaimed boyishly.

"I must be in the Fates' good books to-night.

What virtuous deed can I have done to deserve it ?" "Playing the part of Good Samaritan might have counted," suggested Nan, smiling.

"Unless you can recall any particularly good action which you've performed in the interval." "I don't think I've been guilty of a solitary one," he replied seriously.