'How on earth did you get your commissions?' 'In the usual way. Teddy and I told lies. He said he was eighteen and I said I was thirty-nine.' 'I see. Of course.' He rang the bell. 'Will you write to me, dear Edith?' 'No. I'll come and see you, Aylmer.' 'Are you going to bring Archie, Bruce, or Madame Frabelle?' 'Neither.' 'Do leave Madame Frabelle at home.' 'Though you don't like her, you might pronounce her name right! She's such a clever woman.' 'She's an utter fool,' said Aylmer. 'Same thing, very often,' said Edith. 'Don't worry. Good-bye.' She went away, leaving him perfectly happy and very hungry. * * * * * Hardly had she gone when Miss Clay came in and brought him some beef-tea on a tray. CHAPTER XVI To Edith's joy, as they entered the Mitchell's huge, familiar drawing-room, the first person she saw was her beloved confidant, Sir Tito Landi. This was the friend of all others whom she most longed to see at this particular moment. The extraordinary confidence and friendship between the successful Italian composer and Edith Ottley needs, perhaps, a word of explanation. He was adored equally in the artistic and the social worlds, and was at once the most cynical of Don Juans and the most unworldly of Don Quixotes. He was a devoted and grateful friend, and a contemptuous but not unforgetful enemy. It was not since his celebrity that Edith had first met him; she had known him intimately all her life. From her earliest childhood she had, so to speak, been brought up on Landi; on Landi's music and Landi's views of life. He had been her mother's music teacher soon after he first made a name in London; and long before he was the star whose singing or accompanying was a rare favour, and whose presence gave a cachet to any entertainment.