at the last moment."

"I'm not going to turn down Gorla, or anybody," said Cicely with
decision. "I think it would be silly, and silliness doesn't appeal to
me. That is why I foresee storms on the domestic horizon. After all,
Gorla has her career to think of. Do you know," she added, with a change
of tone, "I rather wish you would fall in love with Gorla; it would make
me horribly jealous, and a little jealousy is such a good tonic for any
woman who knows how to dress well. Also, Ronnie, it would prove that you
are capable of falling in love with some one, of which I've grave doubts
up to the present."

"Love is one of the few things in which the make-believe is superior to
the genuine," said Ronnie, "it lasts longer, and you get more fun out of
it, and it's easier to replace when you've done with it."

"Still, it's rather like playing with coloured paper instead of playing
with fire," objected Cicely.

A footman came round the corner with the trained silence that tactfully
contrives to make itself felt.

"Mr. Luton to see you, Madam," he announced, "shall I say you are in?"

"Mr. Luton? Oh, yes," said Cicely, "he'll probably have something to
tell us about Gorla's concert," she added, turning to Ronnie.

Tony Luton was a young man who had sprung from the people, and had taken
care that there should be no recoil. He was scarcely twenty years of
age, but a tightly packed chronicle of vicissitudes lay behind his