t he was very
kind to the men. They adored him."

"Did he fall in love with your?"

"Not a particle."

"Why wasn't he a soldier?"

"He is a little bit lame. But he is awfully nice."

"But what is extraordinary about him, then?"

"Not a thing, except his niceness."

But they were surfeited with nice young men. They wanted something
dramatic, and Willy Cameron was essentially undramatic. Besides, it was
quite plain that, with unconscious cruelty, his physical handicap made
him unacceptable to them.

"Don't be ridiculous, Lily. You're hiding some one behind this kind
person. You must have met somebody worth while."

"Not in the camp. I know a perfectly nice Socialist, but he was not in
the army. Not a Socialist, really. Much worse. He believes in having a
revolution."

That stirred them somewhat. She saw their interested faces turned toward
her.

"With a bomb under his coat, of course, Lily."

"He didn't bulge."

"Good-looking?"

"Well, rather."

"How old is he, Lily?" one of them asked, suspiciously.

"Almost fifty, I should say."

"Good heavens!"

Their interest died. She could have revived it, she knew, if she
mentioned Louis Akers; he would have answered to their prime requisite
in an interesting man. He was both handsome and young. But she felt
curiously disinclined to mention him.

The party broke up. By ones and twos luxuriously dressed little figures
went down the great staircase, where Grayson stood in the hall and the
footman on the doorstep signaled to the waiting cars. Mademoiselle,
watching from a point of vantage in the upper hall, felt a sense of
comfort and well-being after they had all gone. This was as it should
be. Lily would take up life again where she had left it off, and all
would be well.

It was now the sixth day, and she had not yet carried out that absurd
idea of asking Ellen's friend to dinner.

Lily was, however, at that exact moment in process of carrying it out.

"Telephone for you, Mr. Cameron."

"Thanks. Coming," sang out Willy Cameron.

Edith Boyd sauntered toward his doorway.

"It's a lady."

"Woman," corrected Willy Cameron. "The word 'lady' is now obsolete,
since your sex has entered the economic world." He put on his coat.

"I said 'lady' and that's what I mean," said Edith. "'May I speak to Mr.
Cameron?'" she mimicked. "Regular Newport accent."

Suddenly Willy Cameron went rather pale. If it should be Lily
Cardew--but then of course it wouldn't