colour.

Madeline's reply to this was to place the long letter into her mother's
hand.

Having read it, Mrs. Irwin said she did not wish to force anybody's
confidence, and she was evidently disappointed at its contents. However,
she advised her daughter to answer without loss of time.

The conversation was interrupted by Bertha's arrival.

"You know my brother-in-law, Clifford?" she said. "The funny boy has
'littery' tastes and began writing an historical play! But he got tired
of it and now he's taken to writing verses. I've brought you one of his
poems; they're so funny I thought it would amuse you. Fancy if a brother
of Percy's should grow up to be a 'littery gent'. I suspect it to be
addressed to the mother of his beloved friend, Pickering. He is devoted
to her."

"Where are you going to-day?" inquired Mrs. Irwin.

"I'm taking Madeline to see Miss Belvoir. She has rather amusing
afternoons. Her brother, Fred Belvoir, whom she lives with, is a curious
sort of celebrity. When he went down from Oxford they had a sort of
funeral procession because he was so popular. He's known on every
race-course; he's a great hunting man, an authority on musical comedy,
and is literary too--he writes for _Town Topics_. Miss Belvoir is the
most good-natured woman in the world, and so intensely hospitable that
she asks everyone to lunch or dinner the first time she meets them, and
sometimes without having been introduced, and she asks everyone to bring
their friends. They have a charming flat on the Thames Embankment and a
dear little country house called The Lurch, where her brother often
leaves her. They're mad on private theatricals, too, and are always
dressing up."

"It sounds rather fun," said Madeline.

"Not very exclusive," suggested her mother.

"No, not a bit. But it's great fun," said Bertha, "and I've heard people
say that you can be as exclusive as you like at Miss Belvoir's by
bringing your own set and talking only to them. People who go to her
large parties often don't know her by sight; she's so lost in the
crowd, and she never remembers anybody, or knows them again. To be ever
so little artistic is a sufficient passport to be asked to the
Belvoirs'. In fact if a brother-in-law of a friend of yours once sent an
article to a magazine which was not inserted, or if your second cousin
once met Tree at a party, and was not introduced to him, that is quite
sufficient to make you a welcome guest there. Now that my li