Long before dinner was over there was no doubt that everyone was delighted with Madame Frabelle. She talked so well, suited herself to everyone, and simply charmed them all. Yet why? Edith was still wondering, but by the time she rose to go upstairs she thought she began to understand her friend's secret. People were not charmed with Eglantine because she herself was charming, but because she was charmed. Madame Frabelle was really as much interested in everyone to whom she spoke as she appeared to be; the interest was not assumed. A few little pretences and affectations she might have, such as that of knowing a great deal about every subject under the sun--of having read everything, and been everywhere, but her interest in other people was real. That was what made people like her. Young Coniston, shy, sensitive and reserved as he was, had nevertheless told her all about his training at Braintree, the boredom of getting up early, the dampness of the tents, and how much he wanted to be sent to the front. She admired his valour, was interested in his music, and at her persuasion he promised to sing her songs of Araby after dinner. When the ladies were alone Eglantine's universal fascination was even more remarkable. Mrs. Mitchell, at her desire, gave her the address of the little dressmaker who ran up Mrs. Mitchell's blouses and skirts. This was an honour for Mrs. Mitchell; nothing pleased her so much as to be asked for the address of her dressmaker by a woman with a foreign name. As to Miss Coniston, she was enraptured with Eglantine. Madame Frabelle arranged to go and see her little exhibition of tooled leather, and coaxed out of the shy girl various details about the celebrity, who at present had an ambulance in France. She adored reciting, and Miss Coniston, to gratify her, offered to recite a poem by Emile Cammaerts on the spot. As to Mr. Mitchell, Madame Frabelle drew him out with more care and caution. With the obstinacy of the mistaken she still saw in Mr. Mitchell's friendly looks at his hostess a passion for Edith, and shook her grey head over the blindness of the poor dear wife. Bruce hung on her words and was open-mouthed while she spoke, so impressed was he at her wonderful cleverness, and at her evident success with his friends. Later on Landi, sitting in the ingle-nook with Edith, said, as he puffed a cigar: 'Tiens, ma chere Edith, tu ne vois pas quelque chose?' 'What?' He always talked French, as a middle course between Italian and English, and Edith spoke her own language to him. 'Elle. La Mere Frabelle,' he laughed to himself. 'Elle est folle de ton mari!' 'Oh, really, Landi! That's your fancy!' He mimicked her. 'Farncy! Farncy! Je me suis monte l'imagination, peut-etre! J'ai un rien de fievre, sans doute! C'est une idee que j'ai, comme ca. Eh bien! Non! Nous verrons. Je te dis qu'elle est amoureuse de Bruce.'