assurance, travelled from table to
table and arrived at Craven and his macaroni. She looked surprised,
then sent him a brilliant smile, turned quickly and spoke to Lady
Sellingworth. The latter then also looked towards Craven, smiled kindly,
and bowed with the careless, haphazard grace which seemed peculiar to
her.

Craven hesitated for an instant, then got up and threading his way
among Italians, went to greet the two ladies. It struck him that Lady
Sellingworth looked marvellously at home with her feet on the sanded
floor. Could she ever be not at home anywhere? He spoke a few words,
then returned to his table with Miss Van Tuyn's parting sentence in his
ears; "When you have dined come and smoke your Toscana with us."

As he ate his excellently cooked meal he felt pleasantly warmed and even
the least bit excited. This was a wholly unexpected encounter. To meet
the old age and the radiant youth which at the moment interested him
more than any other old age, any other radiant youth, in London, in
these surroundings, to watch them with the music of guitars in his
ears and the taste of ravioli on his lips, silently to drink to them in
authentic Chianti--all this gave a savour to his evening which he had
certainly not anticipated. When now and then his eyes sought the table
tucked into the corner by the window, he saw his two acquaintances
plunged deep in conversation. Presently Miss Van Tuyn lit a cigarette,
which she smoked in the short interval between two courses. She moved,
and sat in such a way that her profile was presented to the room as
clearly and definitely as a profile stamped on a finely cut coin.
Certainly she was marvellously good-looking. She had not only the beauty
of colouring; she had also the more distinguished and lasting beauty of
line.

An Italian voice near to Craven remarked loudly, with a sort of coarse
sentimentality:

"_Che bella ragassa!_"

Another Italian voice replied:

"_Ha ragione di venire qui con quella povera vecchia! Com'e brutta la
vecchiezza!_"

For a moment Craven felt hot with a sort of intimate anger; but the
guitars began "Santa Lucia," and took him away again to Naples. And what
is the use of being angry with the Italian point of view? As well be
angry with the Mediterranean for being a tideless sea. But he glanced
at the profile and remembered the words, and could not help wondering
whether Miss Van Tuyn's cult for Lady Sellingworth had its foundations
in self-love ra