ted," her host warned her. "My
entertainments appeal more, as a rule, to men."

"Why don't you be thoroughly original and issue no invitations to women
at all?" Margaret enquired.

"For the same reason that you adorn your rooms and the dinner-table with
flowers," he answered. "One needs them--as a relief. Apart from that, I
am really proud of my dancing-room, and there again, you see, your sex
is necessary."

"We are flattered," Margaret declared, with a little bow. "It does seem
queer to think that you should own what Cynthia's cousin, Davy Hinton,
once told me was the best floor in London, and that I have never danced
on it."

"Nor I," Lady Cynthia put in. "There might have been some excuse for not
asking you, Margaret, but why an ultra-Bohemian like myself has had to
beg and plead for an invitation, I really cannot imagine."

"You might find," Sir Timothy said, "you may even now--that some of my
men guests are not altogether to your liking."

"Quite content to take my risk," Lady Cynthia declared cheerfully. "The
man with the best manners I ever met--it was at one of Maggie's studio
dances, too--was a bookmaker. And a retired prize-fighter brought me
home once from an Albert Hall dance."

"How did he behave?" Francis asked.

"He was wistful but restrained," Lady Cynthia replied, "quite the
gentleman, in fact."

"You encourage me to hope for the best," Sir Timothy said, rising to his
feet. "You will excuse me now? I have a few final preparations to make."

"Are we to be allowed," Margaret enquired, "to come across the park?"

"You would not find it convenient," her father assured her. "You had
better order a car, say for ten o'clock. Don't forget to bring your
cards of invitation, and find me immediately you arrive. I wish to
direct your proceedings to some extent."

Lady Cynthia strolled across with him to the postern-gate and stood
by his side after he had opened it. Several of the animals, grazing in
different parts of the park, pricked up their ears at the sound. An old
mare came hobbling towards him; a flea-bitten grey came trotting down
the field, his head in the air, neighing loudly.

"You waste a great deal of tenderness upon your animal friends, dear
host," she murmured.

He deliberately looked away from her.

"The reciprocation, at any rate, has its disadvantages," he remarked,
glancing a little disconsolately at the brown hairs upon his
coat-sleeve. "I shall have to find another coat befo