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(Yes, she certainly looked older when she spoke that way.) “A good deal—not that it matters. I hear that I am your cousin.”

Pamela did not speak; she looked as if the thing were some pointless, tasteless joke, and he answered the look.

“My mother’s name was Adelaide—she was your mother’s half-sister. Her name was Elizabeth. I knew of Aunt Elizabeth quite well, but I didn’t know my mother’s family name.” He paused, and added simply, under his breath, “You see, she died when I was very small.” The tone did not go well with the one he had used before; it is probable that he hardly knew what he was saying. However, it made no difference; Pamela was past noticing shades of intonation.

“You are Aunt Adelaide’s son?” she said, the “You?”

Tony nodded cheerfully, still drunk with the thrill of it.

“Yes,” he assented. “Your cousin Antony-Philip-Hugh-after-his-Grandfather. Funny, isn’t it, after all our conversations as to Birth and Breeding?”

His eyes swept her whitening face without taking in what they saw there, and the next moment the crowd they were in was joined by another stream at right angles, and they were separated. Pamela was left to drift on, with shocked mouth and horror-filled, childish eyes, holding her pale blue opera coat together in front with a convulsive and unnecessary grip, and mechanically following the man in front of her. She knew he belonged to their party. At that minute she was not absolutely certain of anything else.

When he saw Archie, late that night, Tony had made up his mind not to speak of the news. It would only mean a lot of rather unpleasant explanation—he had never told Archie anything about his parents, or indeed any of his