g the evening, of grasping her very low bodice with her
hands, exhausting her breath, pulling the bodice up, and compressing
herself into it. It was an innocent enough performance, but invariably
left the feeling that she should retire upstairs to do it.

She wore a yellow flower in her hair; her stockings were a rich yellow
with a superimposed pattern like strands of fine gold, and her dainty
feet were enclosed in a pair of bronzed shoes. As her lips were
heavily carmined and her eyes brilliantly dark, Madame Carlotti's was a
distinctly illuminating presence.

But the sunniness of her entrance was dimmed by the lack of audience.
She had not expended her genius to throw it away on a strangely dressed
young man whose hair fell straight and black over a large collar that
had earned a holiday some days before, and whose velvet jacket was
minus two buttons, the threads of which could still be seen,
out-stretched, appealing for their owners' return.

'Lucia, my dear,' said Lady Durwent, just like an ordinary hostess,
'you look' (_sotto voce_) 'simply wonderful! I think you have met Mr.
Norton Pyford, _the_ Norton Pyford, haven't you?'

'Hah d' ye do?' said the Pyford.

'Chairmed,' minced Madame Carlotti.

'Lucia, take this chair by the fire. You must be frozen.'

'Ah, _grazie_, Sybil. What a perfectly meeserable climate you have in
this London!'

'Just what I tha-a-y,' bleated Mr. Pyford, sinking into his chair in an
apparently boneless heap. 'The other night, at a fella's
thupper-party, I'----

'MRS. LE ROY JENNINGS.'

The resolutionist swept into the room clothed in black disorder, much
as if she had started to dress in a fit of temper and had been
overtaken by a gale.

She knew Madame Carlotti.--She did _not_ know Mr. Norton Pyford, _the_
Norton Pyford.--She was glad to know him.

He muttered something inarticulate, and glancing at the ring of women
about him, shrank into his clothes until his collar almost hid his
lower lip.

'We were discussing,' said Lady Durwent, vaguely relying on the last
sounds retained by her ear--'discussing--suppers.'

'Don't believe in 'em,' said Mrs. Jennings sternly; 'three regular
meals--tea at eleven and four, and hot milk with a bit of ginger in it
before retiring--are sufficient for any one.'

The Italian took in the forceful figure of the New Woman and smiled
with her teeth.

'Madame Jennings,' she said, 'perhaps finds sufficient distraction in
just ordinary l