as a charming and influential
woman and an old friend of his family. But he did not think of her as a
woman to whom it was possible that a man of his age could make love.
He looked upon her as one who had been a famous beauty, but who was now
merely a clever, well-preserved and extremely successful member of
the "old guard" of society in London. Her "day" as a beauty was in his
humble opinion quite over. She belonged to his mother's day. He knew
that. And his mother happened to be one of those delightful Frenchwomen
who are spirituelle at all ages, but who never pretend to be anything
they are not. His mother's hair was already grey, and she had two
married daughters, one of whom had been trusting enough to make her a
grandmother.

While Rocheouart was in London a number of popular middle-aged
women banded together and gave a very smart ball at Prince's. Lady
Sellingworth was one of the hostesses, all of whom danced merrily and
appeared to be in excellent spirits and health. It was certainly one
of the very best balls of the season, and young men turned up at it in
large numbers. Among them was young Rocheouart.

Lady Sellingworth danced with him more than once. That night she had
almost managed to deceive herself as to the real truth of life. The
ball was being such a success; the scramble for invitations had been so
great; the young men evidently found things so lively, and seemed to be
in such exuberant spirits, that she was carried away, and really felt as
if youth were once more dancing through her veins and shining out of her
eyes.

The "old guard" were _in excelsis_ that night; the Edwardians were in
their glory on the top of the world. Probably more than one of them
thought, "They can say what they like but we can cut out the girls when
we choose." Their savoir faire was immense. Many of them still possessed
an amazing amount of the joie de vivre. And some of them were thoroughly
sensible women, saved from absurdity by the blessed sense of humour.

But Lady Sellingworth was by this time desperately in love with Louis
de Rocheouart, and her sense of humour was in abeyance that night. In
consequence, she was the victim of a mortification which she was never
to forget as long as she lived.

Towards the end of the evening she happened to be standing with Sir
Seymour Portman near the entrance to the ballroom, and overheard a scrap
of conversation between two people just behind them.

A girl's light voice said: