tum, but because they were in a house. Accustomed to their small
flats off Shaftesbury Avenue, where tiny kitchens jostled with bedroom
and boudoir, they were frightened by the suggestion of a vast basement
out of which floated the savoury aroma of the John Dory baking. Victoria
tried to put them at their ease, took their parasols away and showed
them into the boudoir. There they sat in a triangle, the hot sun blazing
in upon them, stiff and starched with the formality of those who are
seldom formal.

'Have a Manhattan cocktail?' asked the hostess.

'No thanks; very hot, isn't it?' said Lissa in her most refined manner.
She was looking very pretty, dark, slim and snaky in her close-fitting
lemon coloured frock.

'Very hot,' chimed in Zoe. She was sitting unnecessarily erect. Her flat
French back seemed to abhor the easy chair. Her tight hair, her trim
hands, her well boned collar, everything breathed neatness, well laced
stays, a full complement of hooks and eyes. She might have been the
sedate wife of a prosperous French tradesman.

'Yes, it is hot,' said Victoria.

Then the conversation flagged. The hostess tried to draw out her guests.
They were obviously anxious to behave. Lissa posed for 'The Sketch,' Zoe
remained _tres correcte_.

'Do you like my pictures?' asked Victoria pointing to the French
engravings.

'They are very pretty,' said Lissa.

'I am very interested in engravings,' said Zoe, looking at the rosewood
clock. There was a longish pause.

'I must show you my little dogs,' cried Victoria. She must do something.
She went out to the landing and opened the garden door. There she met
Augusta carrying a trayful of finger bowls. She felt inspired to
overturn it if only to break the ice. Snoo and Poo rushed in, but in the
boudoir they also instinctively became very well-bred.

'I am very fond of dogs,' said Lissa. Snoo lay down on her back.

'She is very pretty,' remarked Zoe.

Victoria punched the dogs in the ribs, rolled them over. It was no good.
They would do nothing but gently wag their tails. She felt she would
like to swear, when suddenly the front door was slammed, a cheerful
voice rang in the hall.

'Hulloa, here's Duckie,' said Lissa.

The door opened loudly and Duckie seemed to rush in as if seated on a
high wind.

'Here we are again!' cried the buxom presence in white. Every one of her
frills rattled like metal. 'Late as usual. Oh, Vic, what angel pups!'

Duckie was on her knees.