t--what?"

The house was one of historic interest and importance, with that blend
of magnificence and domesticity so typical of all that is best in
English life. Aurora's eyes wandered from the massive emerald
chandeliers, the envy of every connoisseur in Europe, to Raphael's
masterly "Madonna," which, with a daring harmony by Sargent, filled the
niches on either side of the great mantelpiece, itself a triumph of the
art of Niccola of Pisa.

"There's Sir John. I didn't think he'd be here with all this rumpus over
the Bill," said Cecil. The Prime Minister was deep in conversation with
the Marquis of Falutin, P.T.O., Q.T., R.S.V.P., the famous diplomat,
whose recent intervention in the Nice imbroglio had saved the European
situation. Aurora could see the flashes of his wit illuminating Sir
John's saturnine countenance. Her further progress was barred by Lady
Highflyer, who nodded to her, and said to Cecil, whose _petite intimite_
with all this great world struck Aurora anew:

"You heard Philip's got Jericho?" He nodded. "Such a relief. The Duke's
delighted, of course, especially after poor Erskine's fiasco, or perhaps
I should say _fiancee_. He's infatuated, I hear. Only L20,000 a year
between them! Ah, there's Madeline Duchess. Well, _a rivederci_."

She passed on, her dress, which had taxed the resources of the first
modistes of the day, Rue de la Paix, trailing heedlessly over the
priceless Aubusson. Aurora turned to find the Home Secretary at her
elbow. Instantly she was all eagerness and vivacity.

"Will there be a division?" she asked.

"Dear lady," he replied, "_qui vivra verra_. The Anabaptists are up in
arms, but----" He screwed his glass into his eye. "Had anything to eat?"
he asked, as three of the footmen passed with a jewelled tray of Peches
Melba. "A Benvenuto Cellini, if I am not mistaken," he continued,
tapping the tray with his ring, a unique Pompeian intaglio of Venus
Anadyomene with the iynx. "The plates are fourteenth-century Venetian.
The only other set is in the Vatican, you remember." He removed a drop
of the Earl's champagne from his moustache. "Ah, I see Cantoforte's
going to sing. Marvellous man! I remember him in Paris in the
'forties--the roaring 'forties, as poor Dizzy called them."

"He only plays when Royalty's present," a woman behind Aurora whispered,
as the great artist broke into Palestrina's _Andante Furioso_. "They say
he charges a thousand a minute."

A memory of the Lowmere