"I can't think what makes you so dreadfully stuffy," she declared, "surely there's no harm in what I said." Mrs. Delarayne, who longed only for one thing--that the remark complained about, with its brutal reference to her old age, should not be repeated, and least of all discussed,--here interposed a word or two. "No, my darling Leo, of course not. You come fresh from school; you are full of new ideas and schemes; and we,--well, we've remained at home." This observation was perhaps a little feeble, and it also constituted a desertion of Cleopatra, but in any case it seemed to give Leonetta the necessary hint, for she went quite close to her mother and began smoothing her hair. "You must tell me all about the Inner Light some time," she said, "it sounds ripping." She glanced triumphantly at her sister as she spoke. Half of her action had been completely unconscious. Obviously she felt the need of making one of these women her friend, and instinctively she inclined to the one who appeared to be the more powerful. "Peachy darling," she continued, "don't you think this white satin frock that the Claude hag is going to make me might be my coming-out frock? It will be new for the early autumn." Cleopatra gasped, and Mrs. Delarayne gave her a glance full of meaning. "You see," Leonetta pursued, "it will be the best of the lot, won't it?" Mrs. Delarayne drew Leonetta towards her with an affectionate gesture, and smiled in that ingratiating manner so necessary to timidity in distress. "But I didn't know you were to come out this autumn," she protested lamely, not daring to look at Cleopatra, whose attitude she only too shrewdly divined. "It's ridiculous," Cleopatra exclaimed; "I didn't come out until I was eighteen. You know, Edith, you and father wouldn't hear of making it a moment sooner." "Yes, but things are a little different now," Leonetta interposed. "It would be unfair, grossly unfair, Edith," Cleopatra protested, "if you let her come out earlier than I did. Particularly as I did my best to make you and father let me, and you both absolutely refused." Leonetta was now gently stroking her mother's hair. She would not trust her eyes to look at her sister. "Well, Peachy," she said, "surely you can't make a fuss about six months, whatever you say, Cleo. After all, I'll be seventeen and a half." "Any way," Cleopatra snapped, "it won't be right." "But what can it matter to you?" the younger girl demanded, glaring not too amiably at her sister. Cleopatra's face coloured a little at this question. "Oh, nothing," she replied, and she moved towards the door. "I don't care what you do." "Where are you going to, Cleo dear?" Mrs. Delarayne enquired in a voice fraught with all the sympathy she could not openly express.