It was uncommonly nice of Lionel to have asked her to be informal hostess of his first house party!  Unluckily it was an oddly composed party, not so happily chosen as it might have been, and she wondered uneasily whether it would be a success.  She had never met three of the people who were coming to-night—­a Mr. and Miss Burnaby, an old-fashioned and, she gathered, well-to-do brother and sister, and their niece, Helen Brabazon.  Miss Brabazon had been an intimate friend, Miss Farrow understood the only really intimate friend, of Lionel Varick’s late wife.  He had spoken of this girl, Helen Brabazon, with great regard and liking—­with rather more regard and liking than he generally spoke of any woman.

“She was most awfully kind to me during that dreadful time at Redsands,” he had said only yesterday.  And Blanche had understood the “dreadful time” referred to the last weeks of his wife’s life.  “I’ve been to the Burnabys’ house a few times, and I’ve dined there twice—­an infamously bad cook, but very good wine—­you know the sort of thing?”

Remembering that remark, Blanche now asked herself why Lionel had included these tiresome, old-fashioned people in his party.  Then she told herself that it was doubtless because the niece, who lived with them, couldn’t leave them to a solitary Christmas.

Another guest who was not likely to add much in the way of entertainment to the party was an enormously rich man called James Tapster.  Tapster was a cynical, rather unpleasant person, yet on one occasion he had helped Varick out of a disagreeable scrape.

If the host had had his way there would also have been in the party a certain Dr. Panton.  But at the last moment he had had to “chuck.”  There was a hope, however, that he might be able to come after Christmas.  Dr. Panton was also associated with the late Mrs. Varick.  He had attended her during the last long weeks of her life.

Blanche Farrow’s face unconsciously brightened as she remembered Sir Lyon Dilsford.  He was an intelligent, impecunious, pleasant kind of man, still, like his host, on the sunny side of forty.  Sir Lyon was “in the City,” as are now so many men of his class and kind.  He took his work seriously, and spent many hours of each day east of Temple Bar.  By way of relaxation he helped to run an Oxford College East-End Settlement.  “A good chap,”—­that was how Blanche summed him up to herself.

Lionel had asked her if she could think of any young people to ask, and she had suggested, with some hesitation, her own niece, Bubbles Dunster, and Bubbles’ favourite dancing partner, a young man called Bill Donnington.  Bubbles had arrived at Wyndfell Hall two days ago.  Donnington had not been able to leave London till to-day.

Bubbles?  Blanche Farrow’s brows knit themselves as she thought of her niece, namesake, and godchild.