“Oh, I dare say I could find a successor for your vacated niche,” said Cicely lightly; “one thing I’m determined on though, he shan’t be a musician.  It’s so unsatisfactory to have to share a grand passion with a grand piano.  He shall be a delightful young barbarian who would think Saint Saens was a Derby winner or a claret.”

“Don’t be in too much of a hurry to replace me,” said Ronnie, who did not care to have his successor too seriously discussed.  “I may not score the success you expect this afternoon.”

“My dear boy, a minor crowned head from across the sea is coming to hear you play, and that alone will count as a success with most of your listeners.  Also, I’ve secured a real Duchess for you, which is rather an achievement in the London of to-day.”

“An English Duchess?” asked Ronnie, who had early in life learned to apply the Merchandise Marks Act to ducal titles.

“English, oh certainly, at least as far as the title goes; she was born under the constellation of the Star-spangled Banner.  I don’t suppose the Duke approves of her being here, lending her countenance to the fait accompli, but when you’ve got republican blood in your veins a Kaiser is quite as attractive a lodestar as a King, rather more so.  And Canon Mousepace is coming,” continued Cicely, referring to a closely-written list of guests; “the excellent von Tolb has been attending his church lately, and the Canon is longing to meet her.  She is just the sort of person he adores.  I fancy he sincerely realises how difficult it will be for the rich to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and he tries to make up for it by being as nice as possible to them in this world.”

Ronnie held out his hand for the list.

“I think you know most of the others,” said Cicely, passing it to him.

“Leutnant von Gabelroth?” read out Ronnie; “who is he?”

“In one of the hussar regiments quartered here; a friend of the Grafin’s.  Ugly but amiable, and I’m told a good cross-country rider.  I suppose Murrey will be disgusted at meeting the ‘outward and visible sign’ under his roof, but these encounters are inevitable as long as he is in London.”

“I didn’t know Murrey was coming,” said Ronnie.

“I believe he’s going to look in on us,” said Cicely; “it’s just as well, you know, otherwise we should have Joan asking in her loudest voice when he was going to be back in England again.  I haven’t asked her, but she overheard the Grafin arranging to come and hear you play, and I fancy that will be quite enough.”

“How about some Turkish coffee?” said Ronnie, who had decided against the artichoke.

“Turkish coffee, certainly, and a cigarette, and a moment’s peace before the serious business of the afternoon claims us.  Talking about peace, do you know, Ronnie, it has just occurred to me that we have left out one of the most important things in our affaire; we have never had a quarrel.”