“I didn’t think it of them. And it’s a poor consolation to know that they must have gone in last.” Then she hermetically sealed her lips again on this painful subject, and when she had finished her breakfast (her appetite had quite gone) she looked up every member of that degrading party in Colonel Boucher’s “Who’s Who.” * * * * * The announcement that Mr. and Mrs. Philip Lucas had arrived at 25 Brompton Square was repeated once more, in case anybody had missed it (Riseholme had not), and Robert Quantock observed that at this rate the three thousand pounds a year would soon be gone, with nothing to show for it except a few press-cuttings. That was very clever and very withering, but anyone could be withering over such a subject. It roused, it is true, a faint and unexpressed hope that the arrival of Lucia in London had not spontaneously produced the desired effect, or why should she cause it to be repeated so often? But that brought no real comfort, and a few days afterward, there fell a further staggering blow. There was a Court, and Mrs. Agnes Sandeman presented Mrs. Philip Lucas. Worse yet, her gown was minutely described, and her ornaments were diamonds and pearls. The vow of silence could no longer be observed: human nature was human nature, and Riseholme would have burst unless it had spoken. Georgie sitting in his little back parlour overlooking the garden, and lost in exasperated meditation, was roused by his name being loudly called from Daisy’s garden next door, and looking out, saw the unprecedented sight of Mrs. Boucher’s bath-chair planted on Daisy’s lawn. “She must have come in along the gravel path by the back door,” he thought to himself. “I shouldn’t have thought it was wide enough.” He looked to see if his tie was straight, and then leaned out to answer. “Georgie, come round a minute,” called Daisy. “Have you seen it?” “Yes,” said Georgie, “I have. And I’ll come.” Mrs. Boucher was talking in her loud emphatic voice, when he arrived. “As for pearls,” she said, “I can’t say anything about them, not having seen them. But as for diamonds, the only diamonds she ever had was two or three little chips on the back of her wrist-watch. That I’ll swear to.” The two ladies took no notice of him: Daisy referred to the description of Lucia’s dress again. “I believe it was her last dinner-gown with a train added,” she said. “It was a sort of brocade.” “Yes, and plush is a sort of velvet,” said Mrs. Boucher. “I’ve a good mind to write to the _Times_, and say they’re mistaken. Brocade! Bunkum! It’s pushing and shoving instead of diamonds and pearls. But I’ve had my say, and that’s all. I shouldn’t a bit wonder if we saw the King and Queen had gone to lunch quite quietly at Brompton Square.” “That’s all very well,” said Daisy, “but what are we to do?”