Feo nodded and gave one of her widest smiles. “Good for you, Lola,” she said. “If you had been out for the day or something, I should, of course, have been able to do my hair, dress and get off,—but not so well as when you’re here. If it came to a push I suppose I could do everything for myself, even cook my breakfast; but I should hate it and it wouldn’t give me any pleasure.—That one,” she said, and pointed to a most peculiar frock that looked like the effort of that overconscientious chameleon when it endeavored to imitate the tartan of the Gordon Highlanders. It was a very chaos of colors, but she was in the highest spirits and evidently felt in a riotous mood. And while she gave herself up to Lola, in order to have a few deep waves put in her wiry bobbed hair, she babbled as though she were talking to Mrs. Malwood or one of her other particular friends. “I don’t know what the devil’s happened to this week-end,” she said. “Every blessed thing’s gone wrong. That glossy scoundrel at Chilton,—good Lord, I must be more careful,—and all those dullards at Aylesbury! We played bridge nearly all night and no one ever doubled. It was like going to a race meeting and finding the anti-vice brigade where the bookies ought to be. I simply couldn’t stay there another night, so I slept until four o’clock this afternoon, had a cup of tea in my room and dashed up. To-night I hope for better things. An old friend of mine—and really old friends have their points—got back from India yesterday. I saw his name in the paper and rang him up at the Rag. We’re going to dine and dance and so forth, quite like old times; so do your best with me, Lola. I haven’t seen this man for five years.—Don’t allow any of them to remain round my eyes.—Oh, by the way, I’m really awfully sorry to have smashed up your plans and I don’t see how you can go back to your father and mother to-morrow because I shall want to be dressed about ten o’clock and I shall be home again to sleep. So it pretty well rots your day, Lola. Never mind, I’ll see that you have a little holiday before long.” And she smiled up into Lola’s face and for the moment looked very womanly and charming and perfectly sincere. For all her curious tangents and unexpected twists and the peculiar hardness and unscrupulous selfishness that she brought into her dealings with every one, this woman had good points; and even when she hurt her friends deeply she had an unexplainable knack of retaining their loyalty. She really liked Lola and admired her and would have gone very far out of her way to look after her.—The pity of it was that she had not been born a man.