"But where?"

"That's just it. Where have I left her? I can't remember if the
Carrywoods were at home or if I just left cards. If there were at home I
may have left Louise there to play bridge. I'll go and telephone to Lord
Carrywood and find out."

"Is that you, Lord Carrywood?" she queried over the telephone; "it's me,
Jane Thropplestance. I want to know, have you seen Louise?"

"'Louise,'" came the answer, "it's been my fate to see it three times. At
first, I must admit, I wasn't impressed by it, but the music grows on one
after a bit. Still, I don't think I want to see it again just at
present. Were you going to offer me a seat in your box?"

"Not the opera 'Louise'--my niece, Louise Thropplestance. I thought I
might have left her at your house."

"You left cards on us this afternoon, I understand, but I don't think you
left a niece. The footman would have been sure to have mentioned it if
you had. Is it going to be a fashion to leave nieces on people as well
as cards? I hope not; some of these houses in Berkeley-square have
practically no accommodation for that sort of thing."

"She's not at the Carrywoods'," announced Jane, returning to her tea;
"now I come to think of it, perhaps I left her at the silk counter at
Selfridge's. I may have told her to wait there a moment while I went to
look at the silks in a better light, and I may easily have forgotten
about her when Ifound I hadn't your pattern with me. In that case she's