“His money helped to avert, I always contend, the noisy misery of a War!” “He’s open-handed?” “Ah ... as you would find....” The duchess considered: “I _might_,” she said, “get you cards for a State concert....” “A State concert, duchess? That’s no good to me!” “A drawing-room you know is a very dull affair.” “I will liven it!” “Or an invitation perhaps to begin with to one of the Embassies--the English for instance might lead....” “Nowhere...! You can’t depend on that: people have asked me to lunch, and left me to pay for them...! There is so much trickery in Society....” Madame Wetme laughed. The duchess smiled quizzically: “I forget if you know the Tolgas,” she said. “By ‘name’!” “The Countess is more about the throne at present than I.” “Possibly--but oh _you_ who do _everything_, duchess?” Madame Wetme entreated. “I suppose there are things still one wouldn’t do however----!” the duchess took offence. “The Tolgas are so hard.” “You want a misfortune and they’re sweet to you. Successful persons they’re positively hateful to!” “These women of the Bedchamber are all alike, so glorified. You would never credit they were Chambermaids at all! I often smile to myself when I see one of them at a _première_ at the Opera, gorged with pickings, and think that, most likely, but an hour before she was stumbling along a corridor with a pailful of slops!” “You’re fond of music, Madame?” the duchess asked. “It’s my joy: I could go again and again to _The Blue Banana_!” “I’ve not been.” “Pom-pom, pompity-pom! We might go one night, perhaps, together.” “...” “Doudja Degdeg is always a draw, although naturally now she is getting on!” “And I fear so must I”--the duchess rose remarking. “So soon?” “I’m only so sorry I can’t stay longer----!” “Then it’s all decided,” Madame Wetme murmured archly as she pressed the bell. “Oh I’d not say that.” “If I’m not asked, remember this time, I shall die with grief.” “To-night the duke and I are dining with the Leucippes, and possibly ...” the duchess broke off to listen to the orchestra in the café below, which was playing the waltz-air from _Der Rosenkavalier_. “They play well!” she commented. “People often tell me so.” “It must make one restless, dissatisfied, that yearning, yearning music continually at the door?” Madame Wetme sighed. “It makes you often long,” she said, “to begin your life again!” “Again?” “Really it’s queer I came to yoke myself with a man so little fine....” “Still----! If he’s open-handed,” the duchess murmured as she left the room. IV