wears, graceful with its waving plumes and an avalanche of drooping veils.
I spent whole days at Edith's and was nearly as much amused as she. To be truthful, I dare say I was more amused, because she tired of it before I did. But before these days were over I brought in Peter. I had telephoned Edith that we were coming for dinner and, when we arrived, the rooms were nearly empty, for she found it as easy to rid herself of people as to gather them in. Neith Boyce was there, .I remember, her lovely red hair caught in a low knot and her lithe body swathed in a deep blue brocade. There were two young men whose names I never knew, for Edith never introduced anybody and these young men did not interest me sufficiently to compel me to converse with them and they interested Edith so little that they were never allowed to appear again. The dinner, as always, was simple: a soup, roast beef and browned potatoes, peas, a salad of broccoli, a loaf of Italian bread, pats of sweet butter, and cheese and coffee. Bottles of whisky, red and white wine, and beer stood at intervals along the unclothed refectory table. The cynical Tuscan butler, who had once been in the service of Lady Paget, never interrupted the meals to serve these. You poured out what you wanted when you wanted it. The dinner was dull. The young men tried to make an impression on Edith, with a succession of witty remarks of the sort which would have
