There were several of Mark of decidedly more recent date, some in his dancing attire and others in evening dress; these were inscribed, “To Lissa, Best Pal Ever,” and in corresponding vein and as Thurley’s blue eyes stared at the firm writing, she wondered if it was right for a man with such a mind as Mark’s merely to dance through life and leave a trail of battered hearts behind him! There was a lack of books in the room or trifles indicating pronounced tastes in any subject. The truth was that the only battles of life which Lissa considered were worth fighting were those against her double chin and, beyond handsome editions bound to match handsome sofa pillows, she gave no thought to the printed page. Even the piano seemed displeasing in its peacock blue frame with leopard skin rugs spread fantastically before the blue and gold bench. Thurley read the titles of the music on the rack. She had a suspicion she would find cloying, East Indian love songs or French chansons with small _raison d’être_, and she was smiling at having been so utterly correct when Lissa swept into the room in a striking cherry red velvet with a complete armor of jet jewelry, saying in affected fashion, “What is the little one thinking about? Do you like those songs? Or don’t they let you have a go at them? I imagine your layout is as heavy as a boiled English pudding!” Rather confused, Thurley nodded. “How larky to have you alone! I suppose you had to steal away to me.” She stroked Thurley’s cheek and the girl winced under the soft, sure touch, too practised, suggestive of a claw beneath the velvety fingers. “It is so pleasant to come, Madame Dagmar—” “Madame? Lissa! I insist! Why, I’m not your grandmother, silly sweet, years do not matter in our world! What have those disgruntled persons tried to tell you?” A gong sounded the dinner hour and Lissa led her into a fantastic dining-room where a table groaned under unwholesome goodies. “Don’t mention banting,” Lissa said, sitting down unceremoniously, reaching for anchovies and caviar. “I adore eating. I don’t believe in denying oneself any of the good things of life. Come, Thurley, pretend you are at home, wherever that is, and have a schoolgirl feast of it. The desserts will be poor because cook is so involved in a breach of promise suit.” With small regard for etiquette, Lissa was “wading in,” as Dan Birge would have said. Thurley contrasted it with the “family” dinner parties where food was merely the medium of their getting together; where every one talked first and ate last. Not so with Lissa; she had a quick, untidy way of swallowing her food and talking while she did so; she spotted her bodice in revolting fashion, dabbing at the stain with her napkin and saying she ought to be sent to bed!