writing for _her_!" the gay girl said, not without malice.)

But Lady Sellingworth evaded her gently.

"I'm too lazy for Paris now," she said. "I no longer care for moving
about. This old town house of mine has become to me like my shell. I'm
lazy, Beryl; I'm lazy. You don't know what that is; nor do you, Mr.
Craven. Even you, Seymour, you don't know. For you are a man of action,
and at Court there is always movement. But I, my friends--" She gave
Craven a deliciously kind yet impersonal smile. "I am a contemplative.
There is nothing oriental about me, but I am just a quiet British
contemplative, untouched by the unrest of your age."

"But it's _your_ age, too!" cried Miss Van Tuyn.

"No, dear. I was an Edwardian."

"I wish I had known you then!" said Miss Van Tuyn impulsively.

"You would not have known _me_ then," returned Lady Sellingworth, with
the slightest possible stress on the penultimate word.

Then she changed the conversation. Craven felt that she was not fond of
talking about herself.



CHAPTER III

That day Craven walked away from Lady Sellingworth's house with Miss Van