“Or,” interrupted Craven, “until you are comfortably married.” “Comfortably married!” she cried. “_Quelle horreur!_” “I had no idea Americans were so romantic,” said Lady Sellingworth, with just a touch of featherweight malice. “Americans! I believe the longing for romance covers both sexes and all the human race.” She let her eyes go into Craven’s. “Only up till a certain age,” said Lady Sellingworth. “When we love to sit by the fire, we can do very well without it. But we must be careful to lay up treasure for our old age, mental treasure. We must cultivate tastes and habits which have nothing to do with wildness. A man in Sorrento taught me about that.” “A man in Sorrento!” said Miss Van Tuyn, suddenly and sharply on the alert. “Yes. He was a famous writer, and had, I dare say, been a famous lover in his time. One day, as we drove beyond the town towards the hills, he described to me the compensations old age holds for sensible people. It’s a question of cultivating and preparing the mind, of filling the storehouse against the day of famine. He had done it, and assured me that he didn’t regret his lost youth or sigh after its unrecoverable pleasures. He had accustomed his mind to its task.” “What task, dearest?” “Acting in connexion with the soul--his word that--as a thoroughly efficient substitute for his body as a pleasure giver.” At this moment the adoring eyes of the three musicians who were “hairdressers in the daytime” focussed passionately upon Miss Van Tuyn, distracted her attention. She felt masculinity intent upon her and responded automatically. “The dear boys! They are asking if they shall play the Pastorale for me. Look at their eyes!” she said. Craven did not bother to do that, but looked instead at hers, wondering a little at her widespread energy in net casting. Was it possible that once Lady Sellingworth had been like that, ceaselessly on the lookout for worship, requiring it as a right, even from men who were hairdressers in the daytime? As the musicians began to play he met her eyes again and felt sure that it could not have been so. Whatever she had done, whatever she had been, she could never have frequented the back stairs. That thought seemed a rather cruel thrust at Miss Van Tuyn. But there is a difference in vanities. Wonderful variety of nature!