Mrs Chilleywater acquiesced: “You’re right indeed, Lady Something,” she said, “but I’m so sensitive.... I seem to _know_ when I talk to a man, the colour of his braces...! I say to myself: ‘Yours are violet....’ ‘Yours are blue....’ ‘His are red....’” “I’ll bet you anything, Mrs Chilleywater, you like, you won’t guess what mine are,” the Hon. Lionel Limpness said. “I should say, Mr Limpness, that they were _multihued_--like Jacob’s,” Mrs Chilleywater replied, as she withdrew her head. The Ambassadress prepared to follow: “Come, Mr Limpness,” she exclaimed, “we’ve exhausted the poor fellow quite enough--and besides, here comes his dinner.” “Open the champagne, Mario,” his master commanded immediately they were alone. “‘Small’ beer is all the butler would allow, sir.” “Damn the b... butler!” “What he calls a _demi-brune_, sir. In Naples we say _spumenti_!” “To ---- with it.” “Non é tanto amarro, sir; it’s more sharp, as you’d say, than bitter....” “......!!!!!!” And language _unmonastic_ far into the night reigned supreme. Standing beneath the portraits of King Geo and Queen Glory, Lady Something, behind a large sheaf of mauve malmaisons, was growing stiff. Already, for the most part, the guests were welcomed, and it was only the Archduchess now, who as usual was late, that kept their Excellencies lingering at the head of the stairs. Her Majesty Queen Thleeanouhee of the Land of Dates had just arrived, but seemed loath to leave the stairs, while her hostess, whom she addressed affectionately as her _dear gazelle_, remained upon them-- “Let us go away by and by, my dear gazelle,” she exclaimed with a primitive smile, “and remove our corsets and talk.” “Unhappily Pisuerga is not the East, ma’am!” Lady Something replied. “Never mind, my dear; we will introduce this innovation....” But the arrival of the Archduchess Elizabeth spared the Ambassadress from what might too easily have become an “incident.” In the beautiful chandeliered apartments several young couples were pirouetting to the inevitable waltz from the Blue Banana, but most of the guests seemed to prefer exploring the conservatories and Winter Garden, or elbowing their way into a little room where a new portrait of Princess Elsie had been discreetly placed.... “One feels, of course, there _was_ a sitting--; but still, it isn’t like her!” those that had seen her said. “The artist has attributed to her at least the pale spent eyes of her father!” the Duchess of Cavaljos remarked to her niece, who was standing quite silent against a rose-red curtain. Mademoiselle de Nazianzi made no reply. Attaching not the faintest importance to the rumours afloat, still, she could not but feel, at times, a little heartshaken.... The duchess plied her fan. “She will become florid in time like her mother!” she cheerfully predicted turning away just as the Archduchess approached herself to inspect the painting.