“I don’t know them,” said Milly hastily.

“All the better; you can pass yourself off as me.  People say that we are so alike that they can hardly tell us apart, and I’ve only spoken to these tiresome young women about twice in my life, at committee-rooms, and bowed to them in the club.  Any of the club page-boys will point them out to you; they’re always to be found lolling about the hall just before lunch-time.”

“My dear Betty, don’t be absurd,” protested Milly; “I’ve got some people lunching with me at the Carlton to-morrow, and I’m leaving Town the day afterwards.”

“What time is your lunch to-morrow?” asked Lady Drakmanton reflectively.

“Two o’clock,” said Milly.

“Good,” said her sister; “the Smithly-Dubbs shall lunch with me to-morrow.  It shall be rather an amusing lunch-party.  At least, I shall be amused.”

The last two remarks she made to herself.  Other people did not always appreciate her ideas of humour.  Sir James never did.

The next day Lady Drakmanton made some marked variations in her usual toilet effects.  She dressed her hair in an unaccustomed manner, and put on a hat that added to the transformation of her appearance.  When she had made one or two minor alterations she was sufficiently unlike her usual smart self to produce some hesitation in the greeting which the Misses Smithly-Dubb bestowed on her in the club-lobby.  She responded, however, with a readiness which set their doubts at rest.

“What is the Carlton like for lunching in?” she asked breezily.

The restaurant received an enthusiastic recommendation from the three sisters.

“Let’s go and lunch there, shall we?” she suggested, and in a few minutes’ time the Smithly-Dubb mind was contemplating at close quarters a happy vista of baked meats and approved vintage.

“Are you going to start with caviare?  I am,” confided Lady Drakmanton, and the Smithly-Dubbs started with caviare.  The subsequent dishes were chosen in the same ambitious spirit, and by the time they had arrived at the wild duck course it was beginning to be a rather expensive lunch.

The conversation hardly kept pace with the brilliancy of the menu.  Repeated references on the part of the guests to the local political conditions and prospects in Sir James’s constituency were met with vague “ahs” and “indeeds” from Lady Drakmanton, who might have been expected to be specially interested.

“I think when the Insurance Act is a little better understood it will lose some of its present unpopularity,” hazarded Cecilia Smithly-Dubb.

“Will it?  I dare say.  I’m afraid politics don’t interest me very much,” said Lady Drakmanton.

The three Miss Smithly-Dubbs put down their cups of Turkish coffee and stared.  Then they broke into protesting giggles.

“Of course, you’re joking,” they said.

“Not me,” was the disconcerting answer; “I can’t make head or tail of these bothering old politics.  Never could, and never want to.  I’ve quite enough to do to manage my own affairs, and that’s a fact.”