"Well, the young lady's an emanation from sub-Cockneydom. My idea is that that kind can't stand the table and _grande-dame_ test. I'll supply the table, with fixtures, and you're going to be the _grande-dame_." Leighton's face suddenly became boyishly pleading. "Will you, Hélène? It's more than an imposition to ask; it's an impertinence." For a moment Hélène was serious and looked it. "Glen," she said, "you and I don't have to ask that sort of thing--not with each other. We take it. Of course I'll come. I'll enjoy it. But--do you think she's really raw enough to give herself away?" "I don't know," said Leighton, gloomily. "I couldn't think of anything else. Lunch begins to look a bit thin for the job. At first I'd thought of one of those green-eyed Barbadian cocktails, followed by that pale-eyed Swiss wine of mine that Ivory calls the Amber Witch with the hidden punch. But I've given them up. You see, I told her I'd play fair if she did." "Yes, I see," said Hélène. A psychologist would have liked an hour to study the lightning change that came over Folly when, on the following day, she suddenly realized Lady Derl. Folly had blown into the flat like a bit of gay thistledown. For her, to lunch with one man was the stop this side of boredom; but to lunch with two was a delight. If she was allowed to pick the other woman, she could just put up with a _partie carrée_. But she hadn't picked out Lady Derl. Lady Derl was something that had never touched her world except from a box across the footlights on an occasional première. One flash of Folly's eyes took in Lady Derl, and then her long lashes drooped before Lady Derl had time to take in Folly. Folly's whole self drooped. She was still a bit of thistle-down, but its pal, the breeze, was gone. She crossed the room, barely touched Hélène's hand, and then fluttered down to stillness on the edge of a big chair. At lunch Leighton made desperate efforts to start a breeze and failed. Folly said "Yes" and Folly said "No,"--very softly, too,--and that was all. Leighton stepped on Hélène's foot several times, but to no avail. Lady Derl was watching Folly. "Could she keep it up? Yes, she could." Lady Derl couldn't talk; she wanted to laugh. Throughout that interminable lunch, Hélène, Leighton, and Lewis saw nothing, thought nothing, but Folly, and, for all any one of them could see, Folly didn't know it. "Oh, you adorable _cat!_" thought Lady Derl. "Oh, you _adorable!_" sighed Lewis to himself, and, inwardly, Leighton groaned, "Oh, you _you!_" Within twenty minutes of leaving the table, Folly rose from the edge of her chair and crossed to Lady Derl. "Good-by," she breathed shyly, holding out her hand. "I must go now." Lewis sprang up to accompany her. They could see he was aching to get away somewhere where he could put his arms around her. Leighton crossed to the door and held it open. "Good-by," said Folly to him, holding out her hand. "I've had _such_ a good time."