deal too," she added, with a desultory pensiveness; "but fortunately he is well off, so it doesn't matter. I never go into the slums, though. It is so tiring, and then there is so much infection. Microbes generally flourish most in shabby places, don't they, Mr. Amarinth? A mood that cost one typhoid or smallpox would be really silly, wouldn't it? Shall we go into the drawing-room, Emily? the carriage will be round directly. Yes; do smoke, Mr. Amarinth. You shall have your coffee in here while we put on our cloaks."
She rustled out of the room with her cousin. When she had gone, Esmé Amarinth lit a gold-tipped cigarette, and leaned back lazily in his chair.
"How tiring women are," he said. "They always let one know that they are trying to be up to the mark. Isn't it so, Reggie?"
"Yes, unless they have convictions which lead them to hate one's mark. Lady Locke has convictions, I should fancy."
"Probably. But she has a great deal besides."
"Comment?"
"Don't you know why Mrs. Windsor specially wanted you to-night?"
"To polish your wit with mine," said the boy, with his pretty, quick smile.
