Aspasia drew a deep sigh of relief. "Mary thinks she can have dinner in an hour," she said. "Oh Lord, what a piece of business! And—and you’ll come down, won’t you?" She rubbed her coaxing cheek against her aunt’s shoulder. "Yes. I’ll come down." "I’ll dress you," said Baby, her light heart rising buoyantly under what seemed such clearing skies. She nodded. "Oh, dear, I’ve such a desperate lot of things to do! There’s the wine." She slapped her forehead. "I’d forgotten the wine." And the door closed violently behind her tempestuous petticoat. As a companion to a neurasthenic patient Miss Cuningham no doubt had her weak points. * * * * * Rosamond sank slowly back in her chair; her hand fell inertly before her. When the girl returned after an hour’s exceeding activity the elder woman’s attitude had not altered by a fraction. But the exigency of time and social requirements left Aspasia no leisure now to linger over doubts and fears. Her own cheeks were pink from rapid ablutions; her crisp hair stood out more vigorously than ever after determined manipulation. She pealed a bell for Jani, and fell herself upon the golden mass covering Lady Gerardine’s shoulders, her chattering tongue in full swing: "Of course, the poor wretches are in their motor garments. (You never saw anything like Runkle in a pony skin and goggles. He’s more motist than the chauffeur.) So I’ve only just stuck on a blouse, you see. But I’ve determined you shall be beautiful in a tea-gown. Lord, I’d no idea Lady Aspasia was so tremendous! I want you simply to be beautiful!" Deft hands twisted and coiled. "It was Runkle, you know, who broke the motor: he insisted on driving and jammed them sideways in a gate. He’s awfully pleased with himself. It’s Lady Aspasia’s motor. She calls Runkle, Arty: what do you think of that? Ah, here’s Jani. Which shall it be—the white and gold? I love the white and gold, Aunt Rosamond." "Black—black," said Rosamond. *CHAPTER XVI*