The Duc d'Eglemont, that was the racing French duke who had carried off the blue riband of the British Turf--the other name was harder to remember--then it came to her.

Count Paul de Virieu.

How kind and courteous he had been to her and her friend in the Club.

She remembered him very vividly.

Yes, though not exactly good-looking, he had fine eyes, and a clever, if not a very happy, face.
And then, on going down the broad, shallow staircase, and so through the large, oval hall into the dining-room, Sylvia Bailey saw that the man of whom she had been thinking was there, sitting very near to where she herself was now told that she was to sit.