s she
watched her husband proudly. 'Who would dream he was clean-shaven! Look
at that moustache! Look at the wonderful way his coat doesn't fit; he's
got just that Russian touch with his clothes; I don't know how he's
done it, I'm sure. How I wish dear Aylmer Ross was here; he _would_
appreciate it so much.'

'Yes, I wish he were,' said Edith.

'I can't think what he went away for. I suppose he heard the East
a-calling, and all that sort of thing. The old wandering craving you
read of came over him again, I suppose. Well, let's hope he'll meet
some charming girl and bring her back as his bride. Where is he now, do
you know, Mrs Ottley?'

'In Armenia, I fancy,' said Edith.

'Oh, well, we don't want him to bring home an Armenian, do we? What
colour are they? Blue, or brown, or what? I hope no-one will tell Lady
Hartland that is my husband. She'll expect to see Winthrop tonight; she
never met him, you know; but he really ought to be introduced to her. I
think I shall tell him to go and undress, when they've had a little
dancing and she's been down to supper.'

Lady Hartland was the yellow lady in red, who thought she was flirting
with a fascinating Slav.

'She's a sort of celebrity,' continued Mrs Mitchell. 'She was an
American once, and she married Sir Charles Hartland for her money. I
hate these interested marriages, don't you?--especially when they're
international. Sir Charles isn't here; he's such a sweet boy. He's a
friend of Mr Cricker; it's through Mr Cricker I know them, really. Lady
Everard has taken _such_ a fancy to young Cricker; she won't leave him
alone. After all he's _my_ friend, and as he's not musical I don't see
that she has any special right to him; but he's there every Wednesday
now, and does his dances on their Sunday evenings too. He's got a new
one--lovely, quite lovely--an imitation of Lydia Kyasht as a
water-nymph. I wanted him to do it here tonight, but Lady Everard has
taken him to the opera. Now, won't you dance? Your husband promised he
would. You both look so young!'

Edith refused to dance. She sat in a corner with Vincy and watched the
dancers.

By special permission, as it was so _intime_, the Turkey Trot was
allowed. Bruce wanted to attempt it with Myra Mooney, but she was
horrified, and insisted on dancing the 1880 _trois-temps_ to a jerky
American two-step.

'Edith,' said Vincy; 'I think you're quieter than you used to be.
Sometimes you seem rather absent-minded.'

'Am I