ISE

"The tea will be quite cold, you'd better ring for some more," said the
Dowager Lady Beanford.

Susan Lady Beanford was a vigorous old woman who had coquetted with
imaginary ill-health for the greater part of a lifetime; Clovis Sangrail
irreverently declared that she had caught a chill at the Coronation of
Queen Victoria and had never let it go again. Her sister, Jane
Thropplestance, who was some years her junior, was chiefly remarkable for
being the most absent-minded woman in Middlesex.

"I've really been unusually clever this afternoon," she remarked gaily,
as she rang for the tea. "I've called on all the people I meant to call
on; and I've done all the shopping that I set out to do. I even
remembered to try and match that silk for you at Harrod's, but I'd
forgotten to bring the pattern with me, so it was no use. I really think
that was the only important thing I forgot during the whole afternoon.
Quite wonderful for me, isn't it?"

"What have you done with Louise?" asked her sister. "Didn't you take her
out with you? You said you were going to."

"Good gracious," exclaimed Jane, "what have I done with Louise? I must
have left her somewhere."

"But where?"

"That's just it. Where have I left her? I can't remember if the
Carrywoods were at home or if I just left cards. If there were at home I
may have left Louise there to play bridge. I'll go and telephone to Lord
Carrywood and find out."

"Is that you, Lord Carrywood?" she queried over the telephone; "it's me,
Jane Thropplestance. I want to know, have you seen Louise?"

"'Louise,'" came the answer, "it's been my fate to see it three times. At
first, I must admit, I wasn't impressed by it, but the music grows on one
after a bit. Still, I don't think I want to see it again just at
present. Were you going to offer me a seat in your box?"

"Not the opera 'Louise'--my niece, Louise Thropplestance. I thought I
might have left her at your house."

"You left cards on us this afternoon, I understand, but I don't think you
left a niece. The footman would have been sure to have mentioned it if
you had. Is it going to be a fashion to leave nieces on people as well
as cards? I hope not; some of these houses in Berkeley-square have
practically no accommodation for that sort of thing."

"She's not at the Carrywoods'," announced Jane, returning to her tea;
"now I come to think of it, perhaps I left her at the silk counter at
Selfridge's. I m