But of all that their souls knew, their lips spoke no word. "I've often thought about that run we had," said the man. "One doesn't get a gallop like that every day of one's life. Did you have many other good days?" "I didn't go out again last season," said the woman. "Really? How was that?" "Oh, I went down to Devonshire with my sister." "You didn't take Miracle?" "No." It pleased her that he remembered Miracle's name. "By the way, I'm quite angry with you, Mr. Cavendish. Mr. Wilberforce told us on Sunday that you preferred golf to our society." "Jimmy's a mischief-maker. Why isn't your sister here to-night, Mrs. Brunton?" Man-like, he wondered--now--why he had refused to call on her. "Mollie's at a dance. I believe Mr. Wilberforce will be there too." "Jimmy's a great dancer." Did she know, he speculated, about Jimmy and her sister? Probably. Women--according to Ronnie--always told one another that sort of thing. "And you?" she asked. "Oh, I'm like the Tenth. I don't dance." Aliette dimpled to laughter at the old jest. It mattered so little what he said to her with his lips. His eyes gave her the answer to the one question; the only question she had ever asked herself in vain. His eyes said: "Yes. This is Love. This is the Real Thing." She wondered if his brain knew the message of his eyes. She marveled at herself for not having sooner known the message of her heart. "I'm in love with him," she thought. "I've been in love with him ever since that Sunday at Key Hatch." All the gray unease of the past months, of the past years, diffused to amber sunshine. The Spanish secretary, sitting on her right, chimed in to their conversation. "You do not dance, Cavendish. That is strange. I thought all English people danced." The rose-bubble of enchantment was broken. Talk grew general. Dinner drew to its end. 6 "You look a little tired, Mrs. Cavendish. Can't I get you some more coffee? A cigarette, perhaps?" "Thank you so much. I think I would like a cigarette." Aliette and Julia sat together in a palm-screened corner of the vast Louis Quinze drawing-room. The men were still downstairs. The younger woman rose; and fetched a silver cigarette-box, matches. Julia lit her cigarette. She felt very old, very weary, quite unlike herself. The pain nagged at her back. "I'm afraid I'm not a very gay companion for a beautiful young woman. You mustn't mind my paying you compliments." Aliette had raised a protesting hand at the word "beautiful." "When I was your age, compliments were in vogue. Nowadays they're out of fashion--like good manners." "Surely good manners are never out of fashion," said Aliette. "Only--like fashions--they change." Lady Simeon veered toward them, but diverted her course. They talked on, drawn to each other by a kindred obsession--Ronnie. "I'd love to ask her what she thought of him," mused Julia Cavendish. "I simply daren't mention her son," mused Aliette Brunton.