“Death is a long way off, let us hope,” she laughed. “But if the family faithfulness will last out—_jusqu’à jeudi_—no—I can’t manage Thursday—I’ll give it one day more—say Friday—may I expect you both to lunch with me? You have my address—160 Belgrave Square.” Receiving their acceptance of the invitation, she shook hands and went across the lounge to her waiting friends. “A most interesting type,” said Baltazar. “A woman of the moment.” “She’s wonderful!” said Godfrey. And as her head was turned away, he looked long and lingeringly at her. “Wonderful!” CHAPTER XVII WHEN he hobbled into her drawing-room and saw her without her hat, crowned with the glory of her hair, thick, of silky texture and of baffling colour, now almost black, now gleaming with sombre gold, and her slender figure clad in a blue dress which deepened the magical blue in her eyes, Godfrey thought she was more wonderful still. The clasp of her bare hand with its long, capable fingers, thrilled him. Her voice had the added caress of welcome to her house. When, later, she reminded him of their promised heart to heart talk about fathers, it was in his heart to say, “The pedantic old bat calls you a type—you, unique among women!” The criticism had buzzed in his head all the week and on occasions he had laughed out loud at its ineptitude. It buzzed in his head while he was being introduced to Lady Northby, the wife of a distinguished General, and it was with an effort that he cleared his mind enough to say: “I had the honour of serving under the General in France. Oh, a long, long way under, all the time I was out.” “Then you’re friends at once,” cried Lady Edna. “You’ll join Lady Northby’s collection.” “Of what, pray?” asked Baltazar. “Of Sir Edward’s officers.” “I don’t know whether Mr. Baltazar would like to be collected,” said Lady Northby. She was a tiny, dark-faced, kind-eyed woman of fifty. Her smile of invitation was very pleasant. “Can you doubt it?” replied the young man. “It must be a glorious company. I’m only afraid I’m a poor specimen.” “Won’t you sit down?” She indicated a place on the sofa by her side. And when Godfrey had obeyed her, she said in a low voice: “That and that”—with the faintest motion of her hand she indicated decoration and footless leg—“entitle you to a place of honour.” Then as if she had touched sensitive ground, she added hastily, almost apologetically: “Lady Edna always teases me about my collection, as she calls it; but there’s a little truth in it. My husband is very proud of his Division, and so am I, and the only way I can try to realize it as a living thing, is to get to know some of his officers.” “By Jove!” cried Godfrey, his eyes suddenly sparkling. “That accounts for it.” “For what?”