ince the dawn of civilisation, or something desperate like that."

"Was she nice?" Sir Joseph enquired.

"I thought so," answered the girl, "though she wasn't beautiful. You
know, she had that sort of very long chin that you feel you ought to
shake hands with."

Sir Joseph laughed and made all kinds of grimaces at Mrs. Delarayne,
intended to convey that Leonetta was indeed a chip of the old block.

"That's unkind," said Miss Mallowcoid.

Denis Malster threw out his legs and clasped his hands at the back of
his head preparatory to making a speech.

"The heartlessness of flappers!" he murmured. "This is indeed a subject
worthy of elaboration. Why is the flapper usually heartless?"

Mrs. Delarayne was quick to perceive the unpleasant possibilities of
developing such a theme, particularly in view of what had happened
earlier in the evening, and, seeking to save Leonetta's feelings, she
valiantly tried to change the subject.

"Well, in any case," she said, addressing Leonetta, "you are none the
worse for it, my dear. Two years ago you were such a tomboy you could
scarcely get out of the door without chipping a piece off each hip; and
now----"

"Yes, now she chips pieces off other people," interposed Miss
Mallowcoid.

Leonetta, however, was not attending. Her eyes were for the moment
fastened on Denis Malster. He had known how to say just the very thing
to provoke her interest. He had as much as declared that she was
heartless. He,--a man,--had said this. It was like a challenge. She, who
felt all heart, or what the world calls "heart," was strangely moved.
How could he say such a thing? This was the last remark she would have
expected from any man. Her curiosity was kindled, and with it her
vanity.

She noticed, as her sister had noticed before her, that he was
efficient, well-groomed, smart of speech, passably good-looking,
independent at least in bearing, hard, at least in appearance, and
possessed of a certain gift of irony that could act like a lash.

She began to think more highly of him; in fact the recollection of his
last remark actually piqued her now she thought of it again. At last,
for sheer decency, she had to look away from him, and as she did so,
she observed that Cleopatra averted her eyes from her.

There was a stir in the company. Agatha Fearwell was going to sing, and
Miss Mallowcoid went to the piano.

The performance was not above the usual standard of such amateur
efforts, and at the e