The Kingdom of the Blind
Lady Anselman stood in the centre of the lounge at the Ritz Hotel and with a delicately-
poised forefinger counted her guests. There was the great French actress who had every
charm but youth, chatting vivaciously with a tall, pale-faced man whose French seemed
to be as perfect as his attitude was correct. The popular wife of a great actor was
discussing her husband's latest play with a Cabinet Minister who had the air of a school-
boy present at an illicit feast. A very beautiful young woman, tall and fair, with grey-blue
eyes and a wealth of golden, almost yellow hair, was talking to a famous musician. A
little further in the background, a young man in the uniform of a naval lieutenant was
exchanging what seemed to be rather impressive chaff with a petite but exceedingly
good-looking girl. Lady Anselman counted them twice, glanced at the clock and frowned.
"I can't remember whom we are waiting for!" she exclaimed a little helplessly to the
remaining guest, a somewhat tired-looking publisher who stood by her side. "I am one
short. I dare say it will come to me in a minute. You know every one, I suppose, Mr.
The publisher shook his head.
"I have met Lord Romsey and also Madame Selarne," he observed. "For the rest, I was
just thinking what a stranger I felt."
"The man who talks French so well," Lady Anselman told him, dropping her voice a
little, "is Surgeon-Major Thomson. He is inspector of hospitals at the front, or something
of the sort. The tall, fair girl--isn't she pretty!--is Geraldine Conyers, daughter of Admiral
Sir Seymour Conyers. That's her brother, the sailor over there, talking to Olive Moreton;
their engagement was announced last week. Lady Patrick of course you know, and Signor
Scobel, and Adelaide Cunningham--you do know her, don't you, Mr. Daniell? She is my
dearest friend. How many do you make that?"
The publisher counted them carefully.
"Eleven including ourselves," he announced.
"And we should be twelve," Lady Anselman sighed. "Of course!" she added, her face
suddenly brightening. "What an idiot I am! It's Ronnie we are waiting for. One can't be
cross with him, poor fellow. He can only just get about."
The fair girl, who had overheard, leaned across. The shade of newly awakened interest in
her face, and the curve of her lips as she spoke, added to her charm. A gleam of sunlight
flashed upon the yellow-gold of her plainly coiled hair.
"Is it your nephew, Captain Ronald Granet, who is coming?" she asked a little eagerly.