cky?" asked Mavis.

"Since your father died and you had to earn your living till you were
married. Old Jimmy Perigal told me all about it. You're to be envied."

"I fail to see why."

"You've mixed with the world and have escaped living with all these
stuffy bores."

"They don't know how lucky they are," remarked Mavis with conviction.

"Nonsense! Give me life and the lower orders. What did my husband talk
about during dinner?"

"Roses."

"Of course. When he was at his wars, I had some peace. Now I'm bored to
death with flowers."

"Who was that distinguished-looking man who sat on Mrs Charles
Perigal's right?" asked Mavis.

"That's Lord Robert Keevil, whose brother is the great tin-god 'Seend.'"

"The Marquis of Seend?" queried Mavis.

"That's it: he was foreign minister in the last Government. But Bobbie
Keevil is adorable till he's foolish enough to open his mouth. Then he
gives the game away."

"What do you mean?"

"He's the complete fool. If he would only hold his tongue, he might be
a success. His wife is over there. Her eyes are always weeping for the
loss of her beauty. Your father wanted to marry her in his youth. But
give me people who don't bother about such tiresome conventionalities
as marriage."

Mavis looked curiously at the woman whom her father had loved.
Doubtless, she was comely in her youth, but now Mavis saw pouched eyes,
thin hair, a care-lined face not altogether innocent of paint and
powder. And it was those cracked lips her father had longed to kiss;
those dim eyes, the thought of which had, perhaps, shortened his hours
of rest! The sight of the faded beauty brought home to Mavis the vanity
of earthly love, till she reflected that, had the one-time desire of
her father's heart been gratified, the sorrow they would have shared in
common would ever endear her to his heart, and keep her the fairest
woman the earth possessed, for all the defacement time might make in
her appearance.

When the men came up from the dining-room, there was intermittent music
in which Mavis took part. The sincerity of her voice, together with its
message of tears, awoke genuine approval in her audience.

"An artiste, my dear," declared Lady Ludlow. "Artistes have always a
touch of vulgarity in their natures, or they wouldn't make their
appeal. We must be great friends. I'm sick to death of correct people."

For the rest of the evening, Mavis noticed how she herself was
constantly watched by Windeban