“True,” said the Lady Amelia. “But to say one is engaged when one is not and to be married without being engaged are the only parlour games open to a _jeune fille_ of any real modesty. ‘Father,’ I said, ‘I am engaged to be married. What do you know about that?’ He was busy writing a letter, but absent-mindedly he stretched a hand out towards a volume of Debrett, saying: ‘What initials, child?’ I thought that so sweet.” “Personally,” said Lady Pynte, “I adore snobs. They are at least faithful to their principles.” “Faithful!” cried my Lady Surplice. “Did you say _faithful_, Cornelia? Is there such a thing as fidelity?” “_Dans un sauvage_,” bitterly said M. des Beaux-Aces. He would, said Dwight-Rankin. “But what is fidelity?” cried my lady. “Your Highness, why do you not amuse us? I ask, what is fidelity? Is this a time for silence?” “‘Fidelity’ is the title of a new novel,” said a young gentleman who had not spoken before and who was requested not to speak again. “Fidelity,” bitterly said Dame Warp, “is the only game of which a decent woman--I said a _decent_ woman--never tires. I except, of course, auction bridge.” “Fidelity would be such fun,” sighed Fay Paradise, “if only one could ever decide whom to be faithful to.” “Amelia,” cried Lady Surplice. “I hear you were at Martha Putney’s ball last night. What was it like?” “Lousy, dear,” sighed the Lady Amelia. “Fidelity,” said Lord Marketharborough, “is a beautiful talent, if I may say so. Unfortunately, however, I am not a man of talent. I am a genius.” “I,” complained the Lady Amelia Peep, “know nothing of fidelity or infidelity, as I have so far been a martyr to virginity.” “Fidelity,” said Captain Charity, “is an art. But, surely, _ars est celare artem_!” “Fidelity is fiddlesticks,” snapped M. des Beaux-Aces. “I beg your pardon!” cried Lady Pynte. “My good man, I myself know several women who have gone through incredible ordeals in the Divorce Courts and the Press owing to their fidelity to their lovers. Heavens, allow us to retain _some_ virtue!” “Fidelity,” said the young gentleman who had spoken only once before, “is an affectation prevalent among musical-comedy actresses and generally directed towards wealthy Jews.” “Talking of Jews,” said M. des Beaux-Aces, “I hear that all the best Jews are becoming Roman Catholics.” “And what, sir, has that to do with the point?” thundered the Lord Chancellor. “Nothing, thank God!” said M. des Beaux-Aces. “I detest points.” “Amelia,” bitterly said Dame Warp, “I hear you were at Martha Putney’s ball last night. What was it like?” “Divine, dear,” sighed the Lady Amelia.