ice this year,' said Mrs. Graham Townley, with that effect of
breaking by main force into a conversation instead of being drawn into
it. 'Twice in this last year I've sat with an empty place on one side of
me at a dinner-party. On each occasion it was a young member of
parliament who never turned up and never sent an apology.'

'The same man both times?' asked Lord Borrodaile.

'Yes; different houses, but the same man.'

'He _knew_!' whispered Borrodaile in Lady John's ear.

'Dick Farnborough has been complaining that since he smashed his motor
all existence has become disorganized. I always feel'--the hostess
addressed herself to the minister and the pearls--'don't you, that one
ought to stretch a point for people who have to go about in cabs?'

As Haycroft began a disquisition on the changes in social life initiated
by the use of the motor-car, Mrs. Freddy floated away.

Borrodaile, looking after her, remarked, 'It's humane of my
sister-in-law to think of making allowances. Most of us gratify the
dormant cruelty in human nature by keeping an eagle eye on the wretched
late ones when at last they _do_ slink in. Don't you know'--he turned to
Lady John--'that look of half-resentful interest?'

'Perfectly. Every one wants to see whether these particular culprits
wear their rue with a difference.'

'Or whether,' Borrodaile went on, 'whether, like the majority, they
merely look abject and flustered, and whisper agitated lies. Personally
I have known it to be the most interesting moment of the evening.'

What brought Mrs. Fox-Moore's plight forcibly home to Mrs. Freddy was
seeing Vida leave her own animated group to join her sister. Mrs. Freddy
made her way across the room, stopping a moment to say to Freddy as she
passed--

'_Do_ go and make conversation to Lady Whyteleafe.'

'Which is Lady Whyteleafe?' drawled Freddy.

'Oh, you _always_ forget her! What _am_ I to do with you? She's the
woman with the pearls.'

'Not that cross-looking----'

'Sh! Yes, darling, that's the one. She's only looking like that because
you aren't talking to her;' and Mrs. Freddy overtook Vida just as she
reached the Desert Island where Mrs. Fox-Moore stood, looking seaward
for a sail.

A few moments later, after ringing for dinner, Mrs. Freddy paused an
instant, taking in the fact that Lady Whyteleafe hadn't been made as
happy by Mr. Tunbridge's attentions as his wife had prophesied. No, the
angry woman with the pearls, so far from