ve thought it would be a capital opportunity to show an
intelligent foreigner the sights of London!"

"The intelligent foreigners _are_ the sights of London," said Savile as
he went out.

The same morning Vera rustled into her friend's room, with her usual air
of vagueness and devotion, and said with a sort of despairing cry--

"Oh, Felicity darling! you're the only person in the world who always
has clothes for every occasion, and knows everything. How on earth does
one dress for Tussaud's? Should you regard it as a Private View, or
treat it more like--say--Princes'?"

"Neither. Why on earth Princes'? Were you thinking of bringing your
skates?"

"Don't be absurd. Then I had better not wear my new Paquin?"

"Certainly not. Nothing trailing, or showy. But for Heaven's sake don't
dress for skating or bicycling. I fancy there is a notice up to say you
can't do either of those things there. And please not too much of your
Oriental embroideries."

"Well, my new tailor-made dress then, and a large hat?"

Felicity laughed.

"My dear girl, what does it matter? If you fondly imagine that any one
will look at your dress while there are _real_ horrors to see----!"

"Darling little creature!" said Vera, who absolutely idolised Felicity,
and looked up to her in the most absurd way, although she was five years
younger--often taking her ironical advice quite literally, and regarding
her as a rare combination of faultless angel, brilliant genius, and
perfect beauty.

"And now," said Felicity, standing up to her full height--which was far
from imposing--"_Go_, please, Vera! I expect the hairdresser."

"Oh, then, you're taking a little trouble, after all," Vera said,
laughing, and she vanished vaguely, behind a brocaded _portiere_,
leaving a very faint perfume of gilliflower.

The party met fairly punctually in the hideous hall, furnished with
draughts and red velvet. The gloom was intensified by the sound of an
emaciated orchestra playing "She was a Miller's Daughter," with a thin
reckless airiness that was almost ghostly.

"Let's be a regular party," said Felicity, "and keep together, and get
that nice chasseur-looking person to show us round."

Savile and Dolly preferred to stroll about alone, with a catalogue, and
"take the Royal Family in their order." Woodville and Sylvia sat down
near the band.

The amiable chasseur, who greatly enjoyed his work, and who saw that the
living celebrities left our friends rather c