There was something in his mental attitude that was not unfeminine, direct and assertive as he was. He had what is generally known as feminine intuition, a quality perhaps even rarer in women than in men. * * * * * Tonight the persistently hospitable Mrs Mitchell had a large party. Dressed in grey, she was receiving her guests in the big room on the ground floor, and tactfully directing the conversation of a crowd of various and more or less interesting persons. It was one of those parties that had been described as a Russian Salad, where one ran an equal risk--or took an equal chance--of being taken to dinner by Charlie Chaplin or Winston Churchill, and where society and the stage were equally well represented. Young officers on leave and a few pretty girls filled the vacancies. As Bruce, Edith and Madame Frabelle came in together, Landi went straight to Edith's side. Looking at her through his eyeglass, he said, as if to himself, in an anxious tone: 'Elle a quelquechose, cette enfant; oui, elle a quelquechose,' and as the last guest had not arrived he sat down thoughtfully by her on the small sofa. 'Yes, Landi, there is something the matter. I'm longing to tell you about it. I want your advice,' said Edith, smiling. 'Tout se sait; tout se fait; tout s'arrange,' sententiously remarked Landi, who was not above talking oracular commonplaces at times. 'Oh, it isn't one of those things, Landi.' 'Not? Are you sure? Don't be sad, Edith. Be cheerful. Tiens! Tiens! Tiens! How excited you are,' he went on, as she looked at him with perfect composure. 'You will think I have reason to be excited when I tell you.' He smiled in an experienced way. 'I'll sit next to you at dinner and you shall tell me everything. Tiens! La vieille qui voit double!' He bowed politely as Madame Frabelle came up. 'Dear Sir Tito, _what_ a pleasure to see you again! Your lovely songs have been ringing in my ears ever since I heard them!' 'Where did you hear them? On a piano-organ?' he asked. 'You're too bad! Isn't he naughty? No, when you sang here last.' Mr Mitchell came up, and Madame Frabelle turned away. 'Dieu merci! La pauvre! Elle me donne sur les nerfs ce soir,' said Landi. 'I shall sit next to you whether the cards are placed so or not, Edith, and you'll tell me everything between the soup and the ices.' 'I will indeed.' 'Madame Meetchel,' he said, looking round through his eyeglass, 'is sure to have given you a handsome young man, someone who ought to drive Bruce wild with jealousy, but doesn't, or ... or ...' 'Or some fly-blown celebrity.' 'Sans doute!' The door opened and the last guest appeared. It was young Coniston (in khaki), who was invariably asked when there was to be music. He was so useful. He approached Landi at once. 'Ah, cher maitre, quel plaisir!' he said with his South Kensington accent and his Oxford manner. (He had been a Cambridge man.)