houses; geraniums, red and white, drooped from every sill, and
daffodil-coloured curtains were draped back from each window.

"It looks cheerful, doesn't it?" he said.

"Yes, and the inside is still more cheery. One of the
pleasantest houses of the season, so I have heard. I haven't
been there myself, but I've met several men who have, and they
tell me it's uncommonly jovial."

"Whose house is it?"

"A Mrs. Beaumont's."

"And who is she?"

"I couldn't tell you. I have heard she comes from
South America, but after all, who she is is of little
consequence. She is a very wealthy woman, there's no doubt of
that, and some of the best people have taken her up. I hear she
has some wonderful claret, really marvellous wine, which must
have cost a fabulous sum. Lord Argentine was telling me about
it; he was there last Sunday evening. He assures me he has
never tasted such a wine, and Argentine, as you know, is an
expert. By the way, that reminds me, she must be an oddish sort
of woman, this Mrs. Beaumont. Argentine asked her how old the
wine was, and what do you think she said? 'About a thousand
years, I believe.' Lord Argentine thought she was chaffing him,
you know, but when he laughed she said she was speaking quite
seriously and offered to show him the jar. Of course, he