“Appearances are as deceitful as usual, then,” replied Kitty, sinking down into an arm-chair and unfurling a small fan.  “I’m simply melted!  Am I the first arrival?” she continued.  “Where’s Nan?”

“She and Peter are decorating the tea-table—­smiles and things, you know”—­Penelope waved an explanatory hand.

Kitty nodded.

“I think my plan was a good one, don’t you?  Peter’s been an excellent antidote to Maryon Rooke,” she observed complacently.

“I’m not so sure,” returned Penelope with characteristic caution.  “I think a married man—­especially such an unmarried married man as Pete—­is rather a dangerous antidote.”

“Nonsense!  They both know he’s married!  And they’ve both got normal common-sense.”

“But,” objected Penelope, suddenly and unexpectedly, “love has nothing whatever to do with common-sense.”

Kitty gazed at her in frank amazement.

“Penelope!  What’s come to you?  We’ve always regarded you as the severely practical member of the community, and here you are talking rank heresy!”

Penelope laughed a little, and a faint flush stole up into her cheeks.

“I’m not unobservant, remember,” she returned, lightly, her eyes avoiding Kitty’s.  “And my observations have led me to the conclusion that love and common-sense are distinctly antipathic.”

“Well, Nan seems quite happy and cheerful again, anyway,” retorted Kitty.  “And if she’d fallen in love with Peter, knowing that there was a very much alive Mrs. Peter in the background, she would hardly be feeling particularly cheery.”

“Oh, I don’t think Nan’s fallen in love—­yet.  And as to her present joyful mood, that’s easily accounted for by the doubled income Lord St. John is allowing her—­I never knew anyone extract quite so much satisfaction as Nan from the actual spending of money.  Besides, although she doesn’t realise it, Peter has made himself rather indispensable to her.”

Kitty spoke with nervous sharpness: 

“But you don’t think she cares for him?”

The other reflected a moment before replying.  Finally she said: 

“If she does, it is quite unconsciously.  Consciously, I feel almost sure that Maryon Rooke still occupies her thoughts.”

“I wonder where she finds the great attraction in him?” queried Kitty thoughtfully.

“Simply this:  That he was the first and, go far, the only man who has ever appealed to her at all.  And as he has treated her rather badly, he’s succeeded in fixing himself in her mind.”

“Well, I’ve never understood the affair at all.  Rooke was in love if ever a man was.”

“Yes,” agreed Penelope slowly.  “But I think Maryon Rooke is what I should describe as—­a born bachelor.”

“Then he’s no business philandering round with women who aren’t born spinsters,” retorted Kitty promptly.

Penelope’s brown eyes twinkled.