Her object (confessed Madame) was to give her guests a good time. She succeeded. She gave dances and entertained lavishly. She made one stipulation: that her visitors should not play cards. There was no gambling at Alemeda House. The attitude of the police authorities toward Madame Ritti's establishment was one of permanent expectancy. Good people, people with newspaper names, were guests of hers: there was nothing furtive or underhand about her parties. Nobody had ever seen a drunken man come or go. The guests were never noisy only--Madame's girl guests were many. And none of the people who came to the dances were women. Madame was bemoaning the skepticisms of the authorities to Ronnie. She was a very stout woman, expensively, but tastefully dressed. Her lined face was powdered, her lips vividly red. A duller red was her hair, patently dyed. Dyed hair on elderly women has the effect of making the face below seem more fearfully old. She wore two ropes of pearls and her hands glittered. Ronnie always went to Madame Ritti in his moments of depression; he had known her since he was little more than a schoolboy. She had a house in Pimlico then, not so big or so finely furnished, but she had girl guests. "You know, Ronnie, I try to keep my house respectable. Is it not so? One tries and tries and it is hard work. Girls have so little brain. They do not know that men do not really like rowdiness. Is it not so? But these policemen--oh, the dreadful fellows! They question my maids--and it is so difficult to get the right kind of maid. Imagine! And the maids get frightened or impertinent," she laid the accent on the last syllable. She was inclined to do this, otherwise her English was perfect. The door opened and a girl lounged in. She was smoking a cigarette through a holder--a fair, slim girl, with a straight fringe of golden hair over her forehead. Ronnie smiled and nodded. "Hello, Ronnie--where have you been hiding?" Madame snorted. "Is it thus you speak? 'Hello, Ronnie,' my word! And to walk in smoking! Lola, you have to learn." "I knew nobody else was here," replied the girl instantly apologetic, "I'm awfully sorry, Madame." She hid the cigarette behind her and advanced demurely. "Why, it is Mr. Morelle! How do you do?" "That is better, much better," approved Madame, nodding her huge head. "Always modesty in girls is the best. Is it not so, Ronnie? To rush about, fla--fla--fla!" Her representation of gaucherie was inimitable. "That is not good. Men desire modesty. Especially Englishmen. Americans, also. The French are indelicate. Is it not so? Men wish to win; if you give them victory all ready, they do not appreciate it. That will do, Lola." She dismissed the girl with a stately inclination of her head.