d girl, not an elderly
statesman.

"When I play golf much I always begin to feel like a gouty Prime
Minister who has been ordered to play for the good of the country," she
said. "But when I'm an old woman I shall certainly play regularly
for the sake of my figure and my complexion. When I am sixty you will
probably see me every day on the links."

Braybrooke saw a cloud float over Craven's face as she said this, but it
vanished as he looked away towards the hall. There, through the glass of
the dividing screen, Lady Sellingworth's tall and thin figure, wrapped
in a long cloak of dark fur, was visible, going with her careless,
trampish walk to the ladies' cloak-room.

"Ah, there is Adela Sellingworth!" said Braybrooke.

Miss Van Tuyn turned quickly, with a charming, youthful grace, made up
of a suppleness and litheness which suggested almost the movement of
a fluid. Craven noted it with a little thrill of unexpected pleasure,
against which an instant later something in him rebelled.

"Where is she?" said Miss Van Tuyn.

"She's just gone into the ladies' cloak-room," answered Braybrooke.

"But not to powder her face!" said Miss Van Tuyn. "She keeps us waiting,
like the great prima donna in a concert, just long enough to give a
touch of excitement to her appearance. Dear Lady Sellingworth! She has
a wonderful knowledge of just how to do things. That only comes out of a
vast experience."

"Or--don't you think that kind of thing may be instinctive?" said
Craven.

She sought his eyes with a sort of soft hardihood which was very
alluring.

"Women are not half as instinctive as men think them," she said. "I'll
tell you a little secret. They calculate more than a senior wrangler
does."

"Now you are maligning yourself," he said, smiling.

"No. For I haven't quite got to the age of calculation yet."

"Oh--I see."

"Here she comes!" said Braybrooke.

And he went towards the door, leaving "our young friends" for a moment.

"But what has she done to herself?" said Miss Van Tuyn.

"Done! Lady Sellingworth?"

"Yes. Or is it only her hair?"

Craven wondered, too, as Lady Sellingworth joined them, accompanied by
her host. For there was surely some slight, and yet definite, change in
her appearance. She looked, he thought, younger, brighter, more vivid
than she generally looked. Her white hair certainly was arranged
differently from the way he was now accustomed to. It seemed thicker;
there seemed to be more of