Sellingworth looked marvellously at home with her feet on the sanded
floor. Could she ever be not at home anywhere? He spoke a few words,
then returned to his table with Miss Van Tuyn's parting sentence in his
ears; "When you have dined come and smoke your Toscana with us."

As he ate his excellently cooked meal he felt pleasantly warmed and even
the least bit excited. This was a wholly unexpected encounter. To meet
the old age and the radiant youth which at the moment interested him
more than any other old age, any other radiant youth, in London, in
these surroundings, to watch them with the music of guitars in his
ears and the taste of ravioli on his lips, silently to drink to them in
authentic Chianti--all this gave a savour to his evening which he had
certainly not anticipated. When now and then his eyes sought the table
tucked into the corner by the window, he saw his two acquaintances
plunged deep in conversation. Presently Miss Van Tuyn lit a cigarette,
which she smoked in the short interval between two courses. She moved,
and sat in such a way that her profile was presented to the room as
clearly and definitely as a profile stamped on a finely cut coin.
Certainly she was marvellously good-looking. She had not only the beauty
of colouring; she had also the more distinguished and lasting beauty of
line.

An Italian voice near to Craven remarked loudly, with a sort of coarse
sentimentality:

"_Che bella ragassa!_"

Another Italian voice replied:

"_Ha ragione di venire qui con quella povera vecchia! Com'e brutta la