you say about me," Lady Cecily said, "so long as you
make me the heroine of the book. What are you going to call it?..."

"The Delectable Lady!"

"How awfully nice!..."

5

Henry began to feel bored. He wished that Gilbert would come. Gilbert
would soon rout this paltry little tuppenny-ha'penny Society novelist
with his pretty-pretty chatter and his pretty-pretty blue eyes and his
air of being a knowing dog. Lady Cecily seemed to have forgotten Henry
altogether.... He turned to Lord Jasper who was trying hard not to yawn
in Mr. Boltt's face. Mr. Boltt had been a surveyor at one period of his
life, and his favourite theme of conversation was Renascence
architecture. He was now telling Jimphy of the glories of French
Cathedrals, and Jimphy, who cared even less for French Cathedrals than
he cared for English ones, was wondering just how he could change the
conversation to a discussion of the latest ballet at the Empire and
particularly of a girl he knew who was a perfect lady and, as a matter
of fact, lived with her mother. The supper party seemed likely to end
dismally, and Henry, when he was not wishing that Gilbert would come,
was wishing that he himself had not come. He could not understand why it
was that he had so much difficulty in talking easily with strangers.
Lensley was prattling as if he were determined to discharge an entire
novelful of "chatter" at Lady Cecily, and Boltt's little clipped,
pedantic voice recited a long rigmarole about a glorious view in France
which he had lately seen while motoring in that country. Boltt admired
Nature in the way in which any man of careful upbringing would admire a
really nice woman....

Henry had lately reviewed a book by Boltt for a daily paper, and he had
expressed scorn for it and its stuffed dummies, masquerading as men and
women ... and Boltt, who took himself very seriously indeed, had written
a letter of complaint to the editor of the paper. Henry wondered what
Boltt would say if he knew that the review had been written by him, and
an imp in him made him interrupt the long recital of the glories of
France.

"The _Morning Report_ had a good go at your last novel, Boltt!" he said.

The novelist looked reproachfully at Henry, as if he were rebuking him
for indelicacy.

"I never see the _Morning Report_," he replied loftily.

"Oh, then, I suppose you didn't see the review. I thought you probably
got clippings from a Press-cuttings agency!..."

"Yes, oh, ye