"What a charming house!" said the elder, looking round him. "I remember
when your uncle rebuilt it. And before that, I remember his mother, the
old Duchess here, with her swarm of parsons. Upon my word, London tastes
good--after Teheran!"

And the speaker threw back his fair, grizzled head, regarding the
lights, the house, the guests, with the air of a sensitive dog on a
familiar scent.

"Ah, you're fresh home," said Delafield, laughing. "But let's just try
to keep you here--"

"My dear fellow, who is that at the top of the stairs?"

The old diplomat paused. In front of the pair some half a dozen guests
were ascending, and as many coming down. At the top stood a tall lady in
black, receiving and dismissing.

Delafield looked up.

"That is Mademoiselle Le Breton," he said, quietly.

"She receives?"

"She distributes the guests. Lady Henry generally establishes herself in
the back drawing-room. It doesn't do for her to see too many people at
once. Mademoiselle arranges it."

"Lady Henry must indeed be a good deal more helpless that I remember