uld do it admirably, I
know. Unfortunately, when one is embarrassed one is not at one's best
for understanding. Consequently the whole proceeding, besides being
dangerous, would be utterly futile."

Mrs. Delarayne pressed his hand. "It is at times like these," she burst
out a little tearfully, "that I think of you going to China, and all
that."

He rose.

"One minute," she said, turning eyes glistening with tears pleadingly
upon him. "You have not told me what to do."

"The natural and proper thing," he replied, "is to keep her well in hand
and then to trust her to her husband. The good husband is the best
hierophant."

"Yes, I understand," said Mrs. Delarayne rising also.

"They master these things better on the Continent than we do in
England," Lord Henry continued. "The young girl is carefully supervised,
scrupulously watched, and a good husband is entrusted with the rest.
That is by far the best."

"Yes," Mrs. Delarayne exclaimed, laughing in her old way for the first
time that afternoon, "but then, you see, they happen to have the
Continental husband to whom they can entrust the matter."

"True," Lord Henry replied. "Never mind. We must try to find her someone
who is as like a Continental husband as possible."

"St. Maur is a most fascinating boy," Mrs. Delarayne observed.

"Ah--hands off Aubrey, at least for the present. He's not ripe yet,"
said Lord Henry; and in a moment he was gone.

CHAPTER VII

A day or two later,--that is to say on the Saturday before Sir Joseph's
evening At Home in honour of Leonetta's homecoming,--Mrs. Delarayne
herself gave a dinner party, to which a few of her more intimate friends
were invited. Sir Joseph, of course, was among the guests, as were also
Denis and Guy Tyrrell. For some reason, into which she made no effort to
enquire, however, Mrs. Delarayne did not ask Lord Henry.

On the afternoon of the day in question, Leonetta, after her tea,
ensconced herself in the library and wrote the following letter to her
friend, Vanessa Vollenberg:

"My Sweetheart,

"It is Saturday and we are having a dinner party this
evening, and I'm feeling awfully excited. Things are
particularly slow here on the whole. I have scarcely spoken
to a man since I addressed my porter at King's Cross four
days ago. Isn't it rank? What mother and my sister Cleo do
with their men I can't imagine, unless they think they are
better out of harm's wa