whose sex clashed delicately and piquantly with the grave, priest-like performances of the male menials.  The table was of mahogany covered with a sheet of plate-glass.  A large gold epergne glittered in the middle.  Suitably dispersed about the rim of the board were six rectangular islands of pale lace, and on each island lay a complete set of the innumerable instruments and condiments necessary to the proper consumption of the meal.  Thus, every diner dined independently, cut off from his fellows, but able to communicate with them across expanses of plate-glass over mahogany.  George was confused by the multiplicity of metal tools and crystal receptacles—­he alone had four wine-glasses—­but in the handling of the tools he was saved from shame by remembering the maxim—­a masterpiece of terse clarity worthy of a class which has given its best brains to the perfecting of the formalities preliminary to deglutition:  “Take always from the outside.”

The man from the French Embassy sat on the right of the hostess, and George on her left.  George had Lois Ingram on his left.  Laurencine was opposite her sister.  Everard Lucas, by command of the hostess, had taken the foot of the table and was a sort of ‘Mr. Vice.’  The six people were soon divided into two equal groups, one silent and the other talkative, the talkative three being M. Defourcambault, Laurencine and Lucas.  The diplomatist, though he could speak diplomatic English, persisted in speaking French.  Laurencine spoke French quite perfectly, with exactly the same idiomatic ease as the Frenchman.  Lucas neither spoke nor understood French—­he had been to a great public school.  Nevertheless these three attained positive loquacity.  Lucas guessed at words, or the Frenchman obliged with bits of English, or Laurencine interpreted.  Laurencine was far less prim and far more girlish than at the Cafe Royal.  She kept all the freshness of her intensely virginal quality, but she was at ease.  Her rather large body was at ease, continually restless in awkward and exquisite gestures; she laughed at ease, and made fun at ease.  She appeared to have no sex-consciousness, nor even to suspect that she was a most delightful creature.  The conversation was disjointed in its gaiety, and had no claim to the attention of the serious.  Laurencine said that Lucas ought really to know French.  Lucas said he would learn if she would teach him.  Laurencine said that she would teach him if he would have his first lesson instantly, during dinner.  Lucas said that wasn’t fair.  Laurencine said that it was.  Both of them appealed to M. Defourcambault.  M. Defourcambault said that it was fair.  Lucas said that there was a plot between them, but that he would consent to learn at once if Laurencine would play the piano for him after dinner.  Laurencine said she didn’t play.  Lucas said she did.  M. Defourcambault, invoked once again, said that she played magnificently.  Laurencine blushed, and asked M. Defourcambault how he could!...  And so on, indefinitely.  It was all naught; yet the taciturn three, smiling indulgently and glancing from one to another of the talkers, as taciturn and constrained persons must, envied that peculiar ability to maintain a rush and gush of chatter.