assurance, which he did not strive to disguise, that she would be
supremely bored.

He stared at her hard, gave a short laugh, and lounged away.

When he had gone, Sir Donald still seemed embarrassed. He looked at Lady
Holme apologetically, and in his faded eyes she saw an expression
that reminded her of Lady Cardington. It was surely old age asking
forgiveness for its existence.

She did not feel much pity for it, but with the woman of the world's
natural instinct to smooth rough places--especially for a man--she began
to devote herself to cheering Sir Donald up, as they slowly made their
way through room after room towards the distant sound of the music.

"I hear you've been plunging!" she began gaily.

Sir Donald looked vague.

"I'm afraid I scarcely--"

"Forgive me. I catch slang from my husband. He's ruining my English. I
mean that I hear you've been investing--shall I say your romance?--in
a wonderful place abroad, with a fascinating name. I hope you'll get
enormous interest."

A faint colour, it was like the ghost of a blush, rose in Sir Donald's
withered cheeks.

"Ah, Mr. Carey--"

He checked himself abruptly, remembering whet he had heard from Robin
Pierce.

"No, Mr. Pierce was my informant. He knows your place and says it's too
wonderful. I adore the name."

"Casa Felice. You would not advise me to change it, then?"

"Change it! Why?"

"Well, I--one should not, perhaps, insist beforehand that one is going
to have happiness, which must always lie on the knees of the gods."

"Oh, I believe in defiance."

There was an audacious sound in her voice. Her long talk with Leo Ulford
had given her back her belief in herself, her confidence in her beauty,
her reliance on her youth.

"You have a right to believe in it. But Casa Felice is mine."

"Even to buy it was a defiance--in a way."

"Perhaps so. But then--"

"But then you have set out and you must not turn back, Sir Donald.
Baptise your wonderful house yourself by filling it with happiness.
Another gave it its name. Give it yourself the reason for the name."

Happiness seemed to shine suddenly in the sound of her speaking voice,
as it shone in her singing voice when the theme of her song was joy. Sir
Donald's manner lost its self-consciousness, its furtive diffidence.

"You--you come and give my house its real baptism," he said, with a
flash of ardour that, issuing from him, was like fire bursting out of a
dreary marsh land. "Will you?