e had not been
two obviously experienced women, one ill-dressed, with a red hat, the
other well-dressed, with a blue hat; one middle-aged, the other much
younger; but both very observant. And even so, it would scarcely have
mattered had not the younger woman been so slim, pretty and alluring.
While tolerably careless of the opinion of the red-hatted, plain woman
of middle-age, he desired the unqualified approval of the delightful
young thing in the blue hat. They certainly interested themselves in
his manoeuvres with the artichoke, and their amusement was imperfectly
concealed. He forgave the blue hat, but considered that the red hat
ought to have known better. They could not be princesses, nor
even titled aristocrats. He supposed them to belong to some
baccarat-playing county family.

The piece of luck consisted in the passage down the restaurant of the
Countess of Chell, who had been lunching there with a party, and whom
he had known locally in more gusty days. The Countess bowed stiffly
to the red hat, and the red hat responded with eager fulsomeness. It
seemed to be here as it no longer was in the Five Towns; everybody
knew everybody! The red hat and the blue might be titled, after all,
he thought. Then, by sheer accident, the Countess caught sight of
himself and stopped dead, bringing her escort to a standstill behind
her. Edward Henry blushed and rose.

"Is it _you_, Mr. Machin?" murmured the still lovely creature warmly.

They shook hands. Never had social pleasure so thrilled him. The
conversation was short. He did not presume on the past. He knew that
here he was not on his own ashpit, as they say in the Five Towns. The
Countess and her escort went forward. Edward Henry sat down again.

He gave the red and the blue hats one calm glance, which they failed
to withstand. The affair of the artichoke was for ever wiped out.

After lunch he went forth again in his electric brougham. The weather
had cleared. The opulent streets were full of pride and sunshine.
And as he penetrated into one shop after another, receiving kowtows,
obeisances, curtsies, homage, surrender, resignation, submission, he
gradually comprehended that it takes all sorts to make a world, and
that those who are called to greatness must accept with dignity the
ceremonials inseparable from greatness. And the world had never seemed
to him so fine, nor any adventure so diverting and uplifting as this
adventure.

When he returned to his suite his