“Olympian superiority!” teased Stefan. “Please go on, Mrs. Elliot. Did she attach another husband?” “No, she says she hates the bother of them,” laughed their hostess. “Men are always falling in love with her, but-openly at least-she seems uninterested in them.” “Hasn't found the right one, I suppose,” Stefan interjected. “Perhaps that's it. At any rate her young men are always confiding their woes to me. My status as a potential grandmother makes me a suitable repository for such secrets.” “Ridiculous,” Stefan commented. “But true, alas!” she laughed. “Well, Felicity had always designed the gowns for her dancing and acting, and after the elimination of Mr. Noaks she set up a dressmaking establishment for artistic and individual gowns. She opened it with a thé dansant, at which she discoursed on the art of dress. Her showroom is like a sublimated hotel lobby--tea is served there for visitors every afternoon. Her prices are high, and she has made a huge success. She's wonderfully clever, directs everything herself. Felicity detests exertion, but she has the art of making others work for her.” “That sounds as if she would get fat,” said Stefan, with a shudder. “Doesn't it?” agreed Mrs. Elliot. “But she's as slim as a panther, and intensely alive nervously, for all her physical laziness.” “Do you like her?” Mary asked. “Yes, I really do, though she's terribly rude, and I tell her I'm convinced she's a dangerous person. She gives me a feeling that gunpowder is secreted somewhere in the room with her. I will get her here to meet you both--you would be interested. She's never free in the afternoon; we'll make it an evening.” With a confirming nod, Mrs. Elliot rose to greet some newcomers. “Mary,” Stefan whispered, “we'll go and order you a dress from this person. Wouldn't that be fun?” “How sweet of you, dearest, but we can't afford it,” replied Mary, surreptitiously patting his hand. “Nonsense, of course we can. Aren't we going to be rich?” scoffed he. “Look who's coming!” exclaimed Mary suddenly. Farraday was shaking hands with their hostess, his tall frame looking more than ever distinguished in its correct cutaway. Almost instantly he caught sight of Mary and crossed the room to her with an expression of keen pleasure. “How delightful,” he greeted them both. “So you have found the presiding genius of the district! Why did I not have the inspiration of introducing you myself?” He turned to Mrs. Elliot, who had rejoined them. “Two more lions for you, eh, Constance?” he said, with a twinkle which betokened old friendship. “Yes, indeed,” she smiled, “they have no rivals for my Art and Beauty cages.” “And what about the literary circus? I suppose you have been making Mrs. Byrd roar overtime?” Their hostess looked puzzled. “Don't tell me that you are in ignorance of her status as the Household Company's latest find?” he ejaculated in mock dismay.