jovial-looking man, with a high forehead, almost too much ease of
manner, and a twinkling eye.

The chief guests tonight consisted of Lord Rye, a middle-aged
suffraget, who was known for his habit of barking before he spoke and
for his wonderful ear for music--he could play all Richard, Oscar and
Johann Strauss's compositions by ear on the piano, and never mixed them
up; Aylmer Ross, the handsome barrister; Myra Mooney, who had been on
the stage; and an intelligent foreigner from the embassy, with a
decoration, a goat-like beard, and an Armenian accent. Mrs Mitchell
said he was the minister from some place with a name like Ruritania.
She had a vague memory. There was also a Mr Cricker, a very young man
of whom it was said that he could dance like Nijinsky, but never would;
and the rest were chiefly Foreign Office clerks (like Mitchell and
Bruce), more barristers and their wives, a soldier or two, some
undergraduates, a lady photographer, a few pretty girls, and vague
people. There were to be forty guests for dinner and a few more in the
evening.

Almost immediately on her arrival Edith noticed a tall, clean-shaven
man, with smooth fair hair, observant blue eyes, and a rather humorous
expression, and she instantly decided that she would try to will him to
take her to dinner. (Rather a superfluous effort of magnetism, since it
must have been settled already by fate and the ribbons.) It was obvious
from one quick glance that he shared the wish. To their absurdly great
mutual disappointment (a lot of ground was covered very quickly at the
Mitchells), their ribbons didn't match, and she was taken to dinner by
Captain Willis, who looked dull. Fortune, however, favoured her. On her
other side she found the man who looked amusing. He was introduced to
her across the table by Mrs Mitchell, with _empressement_, as Mr Aylmer