es in common.
She is interested in everything that is interesting--except, perhaps, in
love affairs. She doesn't seem to care about love affairs. And yet some
young girls are devoted to her."

"Perhaps that is because she has abdicated."

Braybrooke looked at Craven with rather sharp inquiry.

"I only mean that I don't think, as a rule, young girls are very fond of
elderly women whose motto is 'never give up.'" Craven explained.

"Ah?"

Braybrooke was silent. Then, lighting a cigarette, he remarked:

"Youth is very charming, but one must say that it is set free from
cruelty."

"I agree with you. But what about the old guard?" Craven asked. "Is that
always so very kind?"

Then he suddenly remembered that in London there is an "old guard" of
men, and that undoubtedly Braybrooke belonged to it; and, afraid that he
was blundering, he changed the conversation.

CHAPTER II

A fortnight later Craven received a note from his old friend saying that
Braybrooke had spoken about him to "Adela Sellingworth," and that she
would be glad to know him. Braybrooke was off to Paris to stay with the
Mariguys, but all Craven had to do was to leave a card at Number 18A,
Berkeley Square, and when this formality had been accomplished Lady
Sellingworth would no doubt write to him and suggest an hour for a
meeting. Craven thanked his friend, left a card at Number 18A, and a day
or two later received an invitation to go to tea with Lady Sellingworth
on the following Sunday. He stayed in London on purpose to do this,
although he had promised to go into the country from Saturday to Monday.
Braybrooke had succeeded in rousing keen interest in him. It was not
Craven's habit to be at the feet of old ladies. He much preferred
to them young or youngish women, unmarried or married. But Lady
Sellingworth "intrigued" him. She had been a reigning beauty. She had
"lived" as not many English women had lived. And then--the stolen jewels
and her extraordinary indifference about their loss!

Decidedly he wanted to know her!

Number 18A, Berkeley Square was a large town mansion, and on the green
front door there was a plate upon which was engraved in bold lettering,
"The Dowager Countess of Sellingworth." Craven looked at this plate and
at the big knocker above it as he rang the electric bell. Almost as soon
as he had pressed the button the big door was opened, and a very tall
footman in a pale pink livery appeared. Behind him stood a handsome,