over there principally on account of his health--acute
dyspepsia he had, it seemed he'd got out of running order
generally, regularly off the track. "But I've just about
concluded," he continued, with a pathetic twinkle under
his bushy brows, "that I might have a worse reason for
going back. What do you think of the meals in Victoria's
country, Miss Bell? It seems to me sometimes that I'd
give the whole British Museum for a piece of Johnny-cake."

Elfrida reflected that this was not precisely what she
expected to experience, and presently the hollow-cheeked
Floridian was again at Lady Halifax's elbow for disposal,
while the young lady whose appearance and nationality
had given him so much room for hope smilingly drifted
away from him. The Cardiffs were talking to a rosy and
smooth-faced round-waistcoated gentleman just returned
from Siberia about the unfortunate combination of accidents
by which he lost the mail-train twice in three days, and
Janet had just shaken hands with a short and
cheerful-looking lady astrologist.

"Behind that large person in the heliotrope brocade--she's
the wife of the _Daily Mercury_--there's a small sofa,"
Janet said in an undertone. "I don't think she'll, occupy
it, the-brocade looks so much, better standing--no, there
she goes! Let us sit down." As they crossed the room
Janet added: "In another minute we should have been shut
up in a Russian prison. Daddy's incarcerated already.
And the man told all he knew about them in the public
prints a month ago." They sat down luxuriously together,
and made ready, in their palm-shaded corner, to wreak
the whole of their irresponsible youth upon Lady Halifax's
often venerable and always considerable guests. The warm
atmosphere of the room had the perceptible charge of
personalities. People in almost every part of it were
trying to look unconscious as they pointed out other
people.

"Tell me about everybody--everybody," said Elfrida.

"H'm! I don't see anybody, that _is_ anybody, at this
moment. Oh, there's Sir Bradford Barker. Regard him
well, for a brave soul is Sir Bradford, Frida mine."

"A soldier? At this end of the century one can't feel an
enthusiasm for killing."

"Not in the least. A member of Parliament who writes
verses and won't be intimidated by Punch into not publishing
them. And the man he is talking to has just done a history
of the Semitic nations. He took me down to dinner last
night, and we talked in the most intellig