e handing the dishes,
occasionally exchanged furtive glances which seemed indicative of
suppressed amusement, and the men who were lunching near, many of whom
were now smoking cigarettes, became more and more intent upon Mrs.
Wolfstein and her guests. As they were getting up to go into the Palm
Court for coffee and liqueurs, Lady Cardington again referred to the
article on the proposed school for happiness, which had apparently made
a deep impression upon her.

"I wonder if happiness can be taught," she said. "If it can--"

"It can't," said Mrs. Trent, with more than her usual sledge-hammer
bluntness. "We aren't meant to be happy here."

"Who doesn't mean us to be happy?" asked poor Lady Cardington in a
deplorable voice.

"First--our husbands."

"It's cowardly not to be happy," cried Miss Burns, pushing her hat over
her left eye as a tribute to the close of lunch. "In a savage state
you'll always find--"

The remainder of her remark was lost in the _frou-frou_ of skirts as the
eight women began slowly to thread their way between the tables to the
door.

Lady Holme found herself immediately behind Miss Schley, who moved with
impressive deliberation and the extreme composure of a well-brought-up
child thoroughly accustomed to being shown off to visitors. Her
straw-coloured hair was done low in the nape of her snowy neck, and,
as she took her little steps, her white skirt trailed over the carpet
behind her with a sort of virginal slyness. As she passed Leo Ulford it
brushed gently against him, and he drummed the large fingers of his left
hand with sudden violence on the tablecloth, at the same time pursing
his chubby lips and then opening his mouth as if he were going to say
something.

Sir Donald rose and bowed. Mrs. Wolfstein murmured a word to him in
passing, and they had not been sipping their coffee for more than two or
three minutes before he joined them with his son.

Sir Donald came up at once to Lady Holme.

"May I present my son to you, Lady Holme?" he said.

"Certainly."

"Leo, I wish to introduce you to Lady Holme."

Leo Ulford bowed rather ungracefully. Standing up he looked more than
ever like a huge boy, and he had much of the expression that is often
characteristic of huge boys--an expression in which impudence seems to
float forward from a background of surliness.

Lady Holme said nothing. Leo Ulford sat down beside her in an armchair.

"Better weather," he remarked.

Then he called a