The “old guard” were _in excelsis_ that night; the Edwardians were in their glory on the top of the world. Probably more than one of them thought, “They can say what they like but we can cut out the girls when we choose.” Their savoir faire was immense. Many of them still possessed an amazing amount of the joie de vivre. And some of them were thoroughly sensible women, saved from absurdity by the blessed sense of humour. But Lady Sellingworth was by this time desperately in love with Louis de Rocheouart, and her sense of humour was in abeyance that night. In consequence, she was the victim of a mortification which she was never to forget as long as she lived. Towards the end of the evening she happened to be standing with Sir Seymour Portman near the entrance to the ballroom, and overheard a scrap of conversation between two people just behind them. A girl’s light voice said: “Have you heard the name Cora Wellingborough has given to this ball?” (The Duchess of Wellingborough was one of the hostesses.) “No,” replied a voice, which Lady Sellingworth recognized as the voice of young Rocheouart. “What is it?” “She calls it ‘The Hags’ Hop’! Isn’t it delicious of her? It will be all over London to-morrow. The name will stick. In the annuals of London festivities to-night will always be remembered as the night of the famous Hags’ Hop.” Lady Sellingworth heard Rocheouart’s strong, manly young laugh. “That’s just like the duchess!” he said. “She’s simply made of humour and always hits the nail on the head. And how clever of her to give the right name to the ball herself instead of leaving it for some pretty girl to do. The Hags’ Hop! It’s perfect! If she hadn’t said that, you would have before the evening was out, and then all the charming hags would have been furious with you.” The girl laughed, and she and Rocheouart passed Lady Sellingworth without noticing her and went into the ballroom. She looked at them as they began to dance; then she looked at the Duchess of Wellingborough, who was also dancing. The duchess was frankly middle-aged. She was very good-looking, but she had let her figure go. She was quite obviously the victim of the “elderly spread.” Her health was excellent, her sense of humour unfailing. She never pretended to anything, but was as natural almost as a big child. Although a widow, she wanted no lover. She often said that she had “got beyond all that sort of thing.” Another of her laughingly frank sayings was: “No young man need be afraid of me.” In consequence of her gaiety, humour, frankness and hospitality she was universally popular. But that night Lady Sellingworth almost hated her. The Hags’ Hop! That terrible name stuck in Lady Sellingworth’s mind and seemed to fasten there like a wound in a body.