Mitchell laughed loudly. 'Ha ha! Champagne for Mrs Ottley. What are you about?' He looked up reprovingly at the servant. Mr Mitchell was the sort of man who never knows, after twenty years' intimate friendship, whether a person takes sugar or not. Edith allowed the man to fill her glass. She knew it depressed Mr Mitchell to see people drinking water. So she only did it surreptitiously, and as her glass was always full, because she never drank from it, Mr Mitchell was happy. A very loud feminine laugh was heard. 'That's Miss Radford,' said Mr Mitchell. 'That's how she always goes on. She's always laughing. She was immensely charmed with you the day she called on you with my wife.' 'Was she?' said Edith, who remembered she herself had been out on that occasion. 'Tremendously. I can't remember what she said: I think it was how clever you were.' 'She saw Madame Frabelle. I wasn't at home.' 'Ha ha! Good, very good!' Mr Mitchell turned to his other neighbour. 'Eh bien,' said Sir Tito, who was waiting his opportunity. 'Commence!' At once Edith began murmuring in a low voice her story of herself and Aylmer, and related today's conversation in Jermyn Street. Sir Tito nodded his head occasionally. When he listened most intently, he appeared to be looking round the table at other people. He lifted a glass of champagne and bowed over it to Mrs Mitchell; then he put his hand to his lips and blew a kiss. 'Who's that for?' Edith asked, interrupting herself. 'C'est pour la vieille.' 'Madame Frabelle! Why do you kiss your hand to her?' 'To keep her quiet. Look at her: she's so impressed, and thinks it so wicked, that she's blushing and uncomfortable. I've a splendid way, Edith (pardon), of silencing all these elderly ladies who make love to me. I don't say "Ferme!" I'm polite to them.' Edith laughed. Sir Tito was not offended. 'Yes, you needn't laugh, my dear child. I'm not old enough yet pour les jeunes; at any rate, if I am they don't know it. I'm still pursued by the upper middle-age class, with gratitude for favours to come (as they think).' 'Well, what's your plan?' He giggled. 'I tell Madame Frabelle, Madame Meetchel, Lady Everard--first, that they have beautiful lips; then, that I can't look at them without longing to kiss them. Lady Everard, after I said that, kept her hand before her face the whole evening, so as not to distract me, and drive me mad. Consequently she couldn't talk.' 'Do they really believe you?' 'Evidemment!... I wonder,' he continued mischievously, as he refused wine, 'whether Madame Frabelle will confess to you tonight about my passion for her, or whether she will keep it to herself?' 'I dare say she'll tell me. At least she'll ask me if I think so or not.' 'Si elle te demande, tu diras que tu n'en sais rien! Well, I think....' 'What?'