Philip, still bitterly ashamed of his tea, achieved a lopsided bow, and Lady Rendle departed to her own place. Timothy, who had been engaging Miss Duncombe in animated conversation, supplemented the introduction with a few explanatory comments. "Babs, old thing," he announced to the damsel, rising to give his seat to Philip, "you must be gentle with my friend Theophilus. He is fierce if roused, and should on no account be irritated while having his tea; but when properly handled will be found perfectly tractable. He is not married." "Tim," replied Miss Duncombe, "I hate you. Go away!" "By all means," said the unruffled Timothy. "See you at the Venners' dance on Thursday. Keep me all the odd numbers up to supper and everything after, will you?" "No," said Miss Babs. "Thanks awfully," replied Timothy gratefully. "So long!" He departed, leaving Philip alone with the girl. He regarded her covertly. Miss Babs Duncombe was a fair sample of the _ingénue_ of the present day. She was exquisitely pretty, beautifully dressed; her complexion had been supplemented by art; and her tongue spoke a strange language. "Tim is rather a little pet, isn't he?" she observed to Philip. Philip, who had been blinking nervously at Miss Babs's sheeny silken insteps, looked up. "He is a great friend of mine," he said, "but I am afraid I have never regarded him as a pet." "I see you are a literal person," observed Miss Duncombe. "I must be careful. What shall we talk about? What interests you?" Philip pondered. "Machinery," he said at last. "How pathetic!" was Babs's response. "What else? Do you tango?" "No." "Do you skate?" "Yes." "I have never seen you at Princes." "I have never been there," confessed Philip, feeling very much ashamed of himself. "How tragic! Where _do_ you go? Is there another place?" "I skate--whenever there is a frost," said Philip. "I am rather bucolic." "Oh, you mean on ponds, and that sort of thing," said Miss Duncombe gently. "You shouldn't, you know. It's not done now. Are you very fond of exercise?" "I take all I can." "So do I. I adore it. Do you hunt?" "Once in a way." "Polo?" "No." "You _are_ a monosyllabic man! What do you go in for?" "Rugby football." Miss Duncombe shivered elegantly. "How very quaint--and how squdgy!" she said. "I am afraid you are a Cave Man." "What is that?" "Some other girls and I," explained Miss Babs, "have a sort of little society of our own, called the Idealists. Our _séances_ are simply too thrilling. We sit on cushions round the floor and smoke Russian cigarettes and drink the most divine liqueurs--pink or green or gold--and have the duckiest little debates." Philip, dumbly gripping the tube of French pastry, gaped, quite frankly. This eccentric young female was an entirely new type to him. "What do you debate about?" he asked respectfully, sipping his tea, which by this time was stone cold.