the din and then were smothered by the
rattling of the plates. The waiters flitted ghostly through the room
with incredible speed, balancing high their silver trays. Then Victoria
became conscious that most of the women round her were looking at her;
for a moment she felt her personality shrivel up under their gaze. They
were analysing her, speculating as to the potentialities of a new rival,
stripping off her clothes too and her jewels. It was horrible, because
their look was more incisive than the merely brutal glance by which a
man takes stock of a woman's charms.

She pulled herself together however, and forced herself to return the
stares. 'After all,' she thought, 'this is the baptism of fire.' She
felt strengthened, too, as she observed her rivals more closely.
Beautiful as most of them seemed at first sight, many of them showed
signs of wear. With joyful cruelty Victoria noted here and there faint
wrinkles near their eyes, relaxed mouths, cheekbones on which rosacia
had already set its mark. She could not see more than half a dozen whose
beauty equalled hers; she threw her head up and drew back her shoulders.
In the full light of the chandelier she looked down at the firm white
shapeliness of her arms.

'Well, how goes it?'

Victoria started and looked up from her contemplation. A man had sat
down at her table. He seemed about thirty, fairish, with a rather ragged
moustache. He wore a black morning coat and a grey tie. His hands and
wrists were well kept and emerged from pale blue cuffs. There was a not
unkindly smile upon his face. His tip tilted nose gave him a cheerful,
rather impertinent expression.

'Oh, I'm all right,' said Victoria vaguely. Then with an affectation of
ease. 'Hot, isn't it?'

'Ra-_ther_,' said the man. 'Had your supper?'

'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't want any.'

'Now, come, really that's too bad of you. Thought we were going to have
a nice little family party and you're off your feed.'

'I'm sorry,' said Victoria smiling. 'I had dinner only two hours ago.'
This man was not very attractive; there was something forced in his
ease.

'Well, have a drink with me,' he said.

'What's yours?' asked Victoria. That was an inspiration. The plunge
braced her like a cold bath. The man laughed.

'Pop, of course. Unless you prefer a Pernot. You know "absinthe makes
the . . ."' He stopped and laughed again. Victoria did likewise without
understanding him. She saw that the other women laugh