t when he didn't bow to me. There's
Sir Donald's son. And what a dreadful-looking woman just behind him."

Leo Ulford was coming down the gallery with a gaunt, aristocratic,
harsh-featured girl. Behind him walked Mr. Bry, conducting a very young
old woman, immensely smart, immensely vivacious, and immensely pink, who
moved with an unnecessary alertness that was birdlike, and turned her
head about sharply on a long, thin neck decorated with a large diamond
dog-collar. Slung at her side there was a tiny jewelled tube.

"That's Mrs. Leo."

"She must be over sixty."

"She is."

The quartet sat down at the next table. Leo Ulford did not see Lady
Holme at once. When he caught sight of her, he got up, came to her,
stood over her and pressed her hand.

"Been away," he explained. "Only back to-night."

"I've been complaining to your father about you."

A slow smile overspread his chubby face.

"May I see you again after supper?"

"If you can find me."

"I can always manage to find what I want," he returned, still smiling.

When he had gone back to his table Robin Pierce said:

"How insolent Englishmen are allowed to be in Society! It always strikes
me after I've been a long time abroad. Doesn't anybody mind it?"

"Do you mean that you consider Mr. Ulford insolent?"

"In manner. Yes, I do."

"Well, I think there's something like Fritz about him."

Robin Pierce could not tell from the way this was said what would be a
safe remark to make. He therefore changed the subject.

"Do you know what Sir Donald's been doing?" he said.

"No. What?"

"Buying a Campo Santo."

"A Campo Santo! Is he going to bury himself, then? What do you mean,
Robin?"

"He called it a Campo Santo to Carey. It's really a wonderful house in
Italy, on Como. Casa Felice is the name of it. I know it well."

"Casa Felice. How delicious! But is it the place for Sir Donald?"

"Why not?"

"For an old, tired man. Casa Felice. Won't the name seem an irony to him
when he's there?"

"You think an old man can't be happy anywhere?"

"I can't imagine being happy old."

"Why not?"

"Oh!"--she lowered her voice--"if you want to know, look at Mrs.
Ulford."

"Your husk theory again. A question of looks. But you will grow old
gracefully--some day in the far future."

"I don't think I shall grow old at all."

"Then--?"

"I think I shall die before that comes--say at forty-five. I couldn't
live with wrinkles all over my face. No, Robin, I