“Such a dreadful neighbourhood!” she complained.  “It made me quite ill to go there.”

“I love it,” declared Lady Ludlow.

“That part of London!” exclaimed the faded beauty.

“Why not?  Whatever life may be there, it is honest in its unconcealment.  And to be genuine is to be noble.”

“You’re joking, Kate,” protested the faded beauty.

“I’m doing nothing of the kind.  Give me Pimlico,” declared Lady Ludlow emphatically.

At mention of Pimlico, Mavis and Windebank involuntarily glanced into each other’s eyes; the name of this district recalled many memories to their minds.

When dinner was over, Mavis had hardly reached the drawing-room with the women-folk, when Lady Ludlow pounced upon her.

“I’ve been so anxious to meet you,” she declared.  “You’re one of the lucky ones.”

“Since when am I lucky?” asked Mavis.

“Since your father died and you had to earn your living till you were married.  Old Jimmy Perigal told me all about it.  You’re to be envied.”

“I fail to see why.”

“You’ve mixed with the world and have escaped living with all these stuffy bores.”

“They don’t know how lucky they are,” remarked Mavis with conviction.

“Nonsense!  Give me life and the lower orders.  What did my husband talk about during dinner?”

“Roses.”

“Of course.  When he was at his wars, I had some peace.  Now I’m bored to death with flowers.”

“Who was that distinguished-looking man who sat on Mrs Charles Perigal’s right?” asked Mavis.

“That’s Lord Robert Keevil, whose brother is the great tin-god ‘Seend.’”

“The Marquis of Seend?” queried Mavis.

“That’s it:  he was foreign minister in the last Government.  But Bobbie Keevil is adorable till he’s foolish enough to open his mouth.  Then he gives the game away.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s the complete fool.  If he would only hold his tongue, he might be a success.  His wife is over there.  Her eyes are always weeping for the loss of her beauty.  Your father wanted to marry her in his youth.  But give me people who don’t bother about such tiresome conventionalities as marriage.”

Mavis looked curiously at the woman whom her father had loved.  Doubtless, she was comely in her youth, but now Mavis saw pouched eyes, thin hair, a care-lined face not altogether innocent of paint and powder.  And it was those cracked lips her father had longed to kiss; those dim eyes, the thought of which had, perhaps, shortened his hours of rest!  The sight of the faded beauty brought home to Mavis the vanity of earthly love, till she reflected that, had the one-time desire of her father’s heart been gratified, the sorrow they would have shared in common would ever endear her to his heart, and keep her the fairest woman the earth possessed, for all the defacement time might make in her appearance.