in her hand an attenuated
mottled cane, with an elaborate silver top. A black fan hung from her
waist by a thin silver chain, and, as usual, she was peering through her
eyeglasses at her surroundings. Mr. Amarinth and Lord Reggie were
dressed very much alike in loosely fitting very light suits, with high
turn-down collars, all round collars that somehow suggested babyhood and
innocence, and loosely knotted ties. They wore straw hats, suede gloves,
and brown boots, and in their buttonholes large green carnations bloomed
savagely. They looked very cool, very much at their ease, and very well
inclined for tea. Reggie's face was rather white, and the look in his
blue eyes suggested that London was getting altogether the better of
him.

"Wholesome things almost always disagree with me," said Madame Valtesi,
in her croaky voice, "unless I eat them at the wrong time. Now, a hot
bun before breakfast in the morning, or in bed at night, might suit me
admirably; but if I ate one now, I should feel miserable. Your
strawberries look most original, quite the real thing. Do not be angry
with me for discarding the buns. If I ate one, I should really
infallibly lose my temper."

"How curious," said Mr. Amarinth, taking a bun delicately between his
plump white fingers. "My temper and my heart are the only two things I
never lose! Everything else vanishes. I think the art of losing things
is a very subtle art. So few people can lose anything really
beautifully. Anybody can find a thing. That is so simple. A crossing
sweeper can discover a sixpence lying in the road. It is the crossing
sweeper who loses a sixpence who shows real originality."

"I wish I could find a few sixpences," said Madame Valtesi slowly, and
sipping her tea with her usual air of stony gravity. "Times are so very
bad. Do you know, Mr. Amarinth, I am almost afraid I shall have to put
down my carriage, or your brother. I cannot keep them both up, and pay
my dressmaker's bill too. I told him so yesterday. He was very much cut
up."

"Poor Teddy! Have his conversational powers gone off? I never see him.
The world is so very large, isn't it?"

"No, he still talks rather well." Then she added, turning to Lady Locke,
"You know I always give him five shillings an hour, in generous moments
ten, to take me about and talk to me. He is a superb _raconteur_. I
shall miss him very much."

"The profession of a conversationalist is so delightful," said Mrs.
Windsor, "I wonder