The girls' happy laughter rang down the corridor as they knocked at her
grace's door.

She stood at her dressing-table in a beautiful dress of grey brocade.
Diamonds sparkled in the laces of her corsage, on her fingers and in
the buckles of her lovely shoes; a big bunch of pink carnations was
tied on the top of her ebony stick; a priceless lace veil fastened over
her head by a fragile wreath of diamond leaves fell almost to the hem
of her dress behind. She had discarded the terrifying perruque, and
her own hair, snowy-white, was puffed and curled about the little face,
which was finely powdered and slightly rouged. She was a dream of
beautiful old age, with Dekko just visible under a huge pink bow upon
her shoulder.

"May I present a very old woman to youth?" she said simply.

"Darling," cried Damaris as she ran forward and, pushing the yashmak to
one side, kissed the jewelled hand. "You are too beautiful--too
beautiful! Promise me never, never, never to wear it again."

"I'm too old to get rid of bad habits, chérie," said her godmother.
"And we had better go down. By the way, what is Ben coming as?"

"I really don't know," came the muffled reply from behind the yashmak,
"if he comes at all."

As Cairo entire had accepted the invitation, the place was packed, but
nowhere was the crowd so suffocating as round the entrance to the
Winter Garden.