“Babykins, you silly darling, as if what we eat makes any difference!” said Lady Grenellen, puffing her cigarette-smoke into cloudy rings in the neatest way.

“Of course it does, Cordelia!  Food makes all the difference, you know.  I have kept those white pigs for four years and I know all about it.”

Babykins has the most pathetic blue eyes, and her childish voice is arresting.  Lady Grenellen went into a fit of laughter.

“You are perfectly mad about those horrid pigs!” she told her.

Lady Lambourne interrupted again, in a dignified voice.  “Human nature was not the same in my day—­as you call it—­Mrs. Parton-Mills” (thus she discovered to me Babykins’ name).  “We lived much more simply, and enjoyed our pleasures and did our duties, and stayed at home more.”

“And I expect you were frightfully bored, Letitia, darling,” said Lady Grenellen, “and that is why you never stay at home now.”

It seemed to me quite wonderful how they could be so disrespectful to this elderly lady, but she did not seem at all offended.

“You are incorrigible, Cordelia,” was all she said, and she laughed.

“You had no bridge, and it must have been exactly like it still is when I stay with Edward’s relations in Scotland,” Babykins continued.  “As we arrive there I feel ‘goose-flesh’ on my arms, with the stiffness and decorum of everything.  We chat about the weather at tea, and no one ever says a word they really think; and we play idiotic, childish games of cards for love in the evening; and it is all feeble and wearisome, and the guests are always looking at the clock.”

Lady Tilchester came and joined us; it seemed a breath of fresh sunlight illuminating the scene.

“You appear all to be talking scandal,” she said.

Imperceptibly the conversation changed, and we were discussing the war news when the double doors of the dining-room opened.

Augustus looked very flushed in the face and unattractive as he came towards us, but Lady Grenellen moved her skirts and made room for him on her sofa.  She smiled at him divinely, and was perfectly lovely to him—­as friendly and caressing as if he were an equal.  It perfectly astonished me.  I could not talk and joke familiarly that with Augustus any more than if he were one of the footmen.  And she is a viscountess, and must at least know what a gentleman is.

Half the party moved off to play bridge in one of the drawing-rooms; the rest arranged themselves comfortably, two and two.  Lady Tilchester and Mr. Budge wandered into the music-room, and I, who had not stirred, found myself almost alone by the fireplace with the Duke.

He proceeded to say a number of things to me that astonished me greatly.  I should not have understood them all had I not been to those plays in Paris.

I suppose he was beginning to make love to me—­if this is what is called making love.  His personality is not attractive, so it did not touch me at all, and I am only able to look upon men now through eyes which see coarse brutes.  Perhaps they may be really nice, some of them, but as I look at them one after another, the thought always comes, how revolting could they appear in the eyes of their wives?  This is not nice of me, and I am sure grandmamma would reprove me for it.