"I could, if they're as beautiful as your brother says," replied Lord
Raygan, a tall, lanky, red-headed Irishman with humorous eyes and a
heavy jaw. He was the first earl Ena had ever met, but she prayed
fervently that he might not be the last.

Peter somehow did not want those pale dryads sacrificed to make a
Raygan holiday. He regretted having remarked on their beauty. "They
looked more like dying than living models when I saw them," he said.

"Let's go and see what they look like now," suggested Raygan. "Eh,
what, Miss Rolls?"

"I don't know if men _can_ go," she hesitated.

"Who's to stop them? Why shouldn't I be wanting to buy one of the
dresses off their backs for my sister?"

"What a _melting_ idea! You do, don't you, dear boy?" the flapper
encouraged him.

"I might. Come along, Miss Rolls. Come along, Eily. What about you,
Rolls? Will you guide us?"

"Let's wait till after lunch," said Ena. She hoped that it might
disagree with everybody, and then they would not want to go.

"Oh, no!" pleaded Lady Eileen O'Neill. "We may be dead after luncheon,
and probably will be. Or Rags'll change his mind about the dress.
Nadine's dresses are too heavenly. I've never seen any except on the
stage, worn by wonderful, thin giantesses. All her gowns are named,