"You are very kind," she murmurs, as his eyeglass falls amongst her chiffons. "The cat was hungry, and now he won't get anything. Philip will not stay and——"
She breaks off shortly, for her husband has turned and discovered the youth on his knees before Eleanor, who, as he rises, slips his card into her hand.
"I will see the cat is fed," he whispers.
She gives him a grateful glance, and explaining the incident to Philip, hurries away, with the stranger's card hidden in her pale kid glove.
When she is back in the hotel, Eleanor looks at the name.
HERBERT DALLISON.
Junior Conservative Club.
"I don't suppose we shall ever meet again," she says to herself reflectively. "But he must so kindhearted, or he wouldn't have troubled about my dress or the cat."
Though Eleanor Roche is so in love with her own lustrous eyes, she does not yet realise how much goodwill they can win her. She has yet to learn that the dangerous gift of a subtle charm may make or mar its owner's life.
"We have only one more day here," says Philip, who had mapped out their tour, "and I want you to see 'Waterloo,' dearest."
"Is it amusing?" asks Eleanor.