"Do you know Dick Howard, then?" he asked.
"Yes, a little. Has he arrived? This is his dance, you know."
"I cannot tell you if he has arrived, Mademoiselle," answered the Englishman, in his halting French. "I know him at home—in Norfolk. I was not aware that he was in Paris. But he will not be here to-night."
"Why?"
"Because his father is dead."
Lucille said nothing. She obeyed the movements of his arm, and they danced, mingling with that gay throng, where the feet were lighter than the hearts, we may be sure. They went through the whole dance in silence, as Phillip afterwards told me—and he tried in vain to engage Lucille's full attention to matters of passing interest.
"We must find my mother," she said at length, when the music had ceased. "Mr. Howard does not know. He has been travelling in the South with my father. His letters have not been forwarded to him."
Phillip Gayerson guided his partner through the laughing throng.
"It will be bad news for Dick," he said, "for his father has left him penniless."
"I understood," observed Lucille, looking attentively at her bouquet, "that he was wealthy."