Edith felt happy tonight; her spirits were raised by what she felt to be an atmosphere _tiède_, as the French say; full of indulgence, sympathetic, relaxing, in which either cleverness or stupidity could float equally at its ease. The puerility of the silly little arrangements to amuse removed all sense of ceremony. The note is always struck by the hostess, and she was everything that was amiable, without effort or affectation. No-one was ever afraid of her. Bruce's neighbour at dinner was the delicate, battered-looking actress, in a Royal fringe and a tight bodice with short sleeves, who had once been a celebrity, though no-one remembered for what. Miss Myra Mooney, formerly a beauty, had known her days of success. She had been the supreme performer of ladylike parts. She had been known as the very quintessence of refinement. It was assumed when she first came out that a duke would go to the devil for her in her youth, and that in her late maturity she would tour the provinces with _The Three Musketeers_. Neither of these prophecies had, however, been fulfilled. She still occasionally took small middle-aged titled parts in repertoire matinees. She was unable to help referring constantly to the hit she made in _Peril_ at Manchester in 1887; nor could she ever resist speaking of the young man who sent her red carnations every day of his blighted existence for fifteen years; a pure romance, indeed, for, as she owned, he never even wished to be introduced to her. She still called him poor boy, oblivious of the fact that he was now sixty-eight, and, according to the illustrated papers, spent his entire time in giving away a numberless succession of daughters in brilliant marriage at St George's, Hanover Square. In this way Miss Mooney lived a good deal in the past, but she was not unaware of the present, and was always particularly nice to people generally regarded as bores. So she was never without plenty of invitations. Mitchell had had formerly a slight _tendre_ for her, and in his good nature pretended to think she had not altered a bit. She was still refined _comme cela ne se fait plus_; it was practically no longer possible to find such a perfect lady, even on the stage. As she also had all the easy good nature of the artist, and made herself extremely agreeable, Bruce was delighted with her, and evidently thought he had drawn a prize. 'I wondered,' Aylmer Ross said, 'whether this could possibly happen. First I half hoped it might; then I gave it up in despair.' 'So did I,' said Edith; 'and yet I generally know. I've a touch of second sight, I think--at dinner-parties.' 'Oh, well, I have second sight too--any amount; only it's always wrong. However!...' 'Aren't the Mitchells dears?' said Edith. 'Oh, quite. Do you know them well?' 'Very well, indeed. But I've never seen them before.'