“Hush! Hush!” said Quixtus. “My dear Miss Concannon, I am delighted to see you.” “She goes by the name of Etta,” said Tommy, proudly. Clementina jerked her thumb towards them: “Engaged. Young idiots!” “My dear Miss Etta,” said Quixtus, taking the hand of the furiously blushing girl—“My friend, Tommy, is an uncommonly lucky fellow.” He nodded at Sheila, who hung on to his finger-tips. “Have you made friends with this young lady?” “She’s a darling!” cried Etta. “Clementina,” said Tommy, “you’re a wretch. You shouldn’t have given us away.” “You gave yourselves away, you silly geese. People have been grinning at you all the time you were walking here.” Then her glance fell upon the expectant trio a little way off. “Oh Lord!” she said, “those people again!” “They’re my very good friends,” said Quixtus, “and I want you to meet them again in normal circumstances. I want you to like them.” He looked at her in mild appeal. Clementina’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “All right,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be civil.” So it came to pass that the two women again faced each other; Mrs. Fontaine all daintiness and fragrance in her simple but exquisitely cut fawn costume, the chaste contours of her face set off by an equally simple ten-guinea black hat with an ostrich feather; Clementina, rugged, powerful, untidy in her ill-fitting mustardy brown stuff skirt and jacket, and heavy, businesslike shoes; and again between the two pairs of eyes was the flicker of rapiers. And as soon as they were disengaged and Clementina turned to Lady Louisa, she felt the other’s swift glance travel from the soles of her feet to the rickety old rose in her hat. There are moments when sex gives a woman eyes in the back of her head. She turned round quickly and surprised the most elusive ghost of a smile imaginable. For the first time in her life Clementina felt herself at a disadvantage. She winced; then mentally, so as to speak, snapped her fingers. What had she to do with the woman, or the woman with her? All the presentations having been made, Quixtus led the way to the restaurant of the hotel. “Clementina,” said he, “may I ask you to concede the place of honour for this occasion to my unexpected but most charming and most welcome guest?” He indicated Etta still blushing into whose ear Tommy whispered that his uncle always spoke like a penny book with the covers off. “My dear man,” said Clementina, “stick me anywhere, so long as it’s next the baby and I can see that nobody feeds her on anchovies and lobster salad.” She understood perfectly. The second seat of honour was Mrs. Fontaine’s. She confounded Mrs. Fontaine. But what was Mrs. Fontaine to her or she to Mrs. Fontaine?