She looked half defiantly, half inquisitively at Lady Sellingworth.

"My dear Beryl!" said the latter, "for all these lacks in your
temperament you must wait."

"Wait? For how long?"

"Till you are fifty, perhaps."

"I know I shall want romance at fifty."

"Let us say sixty, then."

"Or," interrupted Craven, "until you are comfortably married."

"Comfortably married!" she cried. "_Quelle horreur!_"

"I had no idea Americans were so romantic," said Lady Sellingworth, with
just a touch of featherweight malice.

"Americans! I believe the longing for romance covers both sexes and all
the human race."

She let her eyes go into Craven's.

"Only up till a certain age," said Lady Sellingworth. "When we love to
sit by the fire, we can do very well without it. But we must be careful
to lay up treasure for our old age, mental treasure. We must cultivate
tastes and habits which have nothing to do with wildness. A man in