During the past summer Mrs. Massington had seen a good deal of him in London, and though she had frankly conceded that, according, anyhow, to Charlie Brancepeth's notions, he was a cad, there was a great deal about him she liked immensely. Just as she liked the clearness of line, absence of 'fluff,' in a room, so she liked--more than liked --precision of mind in a person. He was quick, definite, and reasonable in the sense that he acted, and could always be counted on to act, strictly in accordance with conclusions at which he had arrived, and which would be found to be based on sound reasoning. She liked also his spare, business-like habit of body, his scrupulous tidiness of attire, his quick, firm movements, his extreme efficiency of person. Underlying this, and but dimly present to her consciousness, was the fact that he so much resembled in face and frame Charlie Brancepeth, towards whom she had always felt a good deal of affection--whose devotion to her touched, though at times it irritated, her. Had things been different, she would have married him, but since matrimonially he was impossible, she did not in the least propose to practise celibacy. As she had told Judy, she believed she was incapable of what many other people would call love; but she was a great believer in happiness, and knew that she had a fine appetite for it. Many things might contribute to it, but love was by no means an essential constituent. And more and more, especially since her arrival in America, she liked the quality of mind which may be broadly called sensibleness. Americans--except when they were revelling--seemed to her to have a great deal of it. The pearl-fishing had been succeeded by bridge, bridge by dinner, and dinner by a ball in the room entirely papered with roses. Sensationally--from the point of view, that is, of cost--it was a great success, but practically the scent was so overpowering that it was impossible to dance there for more than a few minutes at a time without, so to speak, coming up to breathe. Consequently, there was a good deal of sitting-out done, and Bilton firmly and collectedly managed to spend a large part of the evening with Sybil Massington. 'I should so like to know what you really think of us all,' he said on one of these occasions in his quiet, English-sounding voice. 'I adore you,' said she--' collectively, I mean.' 'Ah, that spoils it all,' said he; 'we all want to be adored individually.' 'There are too many of you for me to do that,' she said; 'I should have to cut my heart up into so many little bits. Wherever I go--there's a song about it--I leave my heart behind me. I always do that. People seem to me very nice.' 'You are taking the rest of the stuffing out,' remarked he in a slightly injured voice. She laughed. 'Well, I find you all charming,' she said again. 'Will that do?' 'I suppose it will have to. And your friend, Lord Keynes?'