“Who is she, Tracy?”

His Grace turned.

“Who is who?” he asked languidly.

Lord Avon burst out laughing.

“Oh, come now, Belmanoir, that won’t do! It really will not! Who is she, indeed!”

“Ay, Belmanoir, who is the black-haired beauty, and where did you find her?” cried Tom Wilding, pressing forward with a glass in one hand and a bottle of port in the other. “I thought you were captivated by Cynthia Evans?”

Tracy looked bewildered for the moment, and then a light dawned on him.

“Evans! Ah, yes! The saucy widow who lived in Kensington, was it not? I remember.”