fear Narcisse has broken more than one of the commandments in this
final escapade. The truly great have ever been subject to these
momentary aberrations, and Narcisse being now in the hands of
justice--so called--our dinner must needs stand over, though not, I
hope, for long. Meantime the only consolation I can perceive is
the chance of a cup of tea with you this afternoon.

J. O."

Sir John Oglethorpe had been her husband's oldest and best friend.
He and the Marchesa had first met in Sardinia, where they had both
of them gone in pursuit of woodcock, and since the Marchesa had
been a widow, she and Sir John had met either in Rome or in London
every year. The dinner so tragically manque had been arranged to
assemble a number of Anglo-Italian friends; and, as Sir John was as
perfect as a host as Narcisse was as a cook, the disappointment was
a heavy one. She threw aside the letter with a gesture of
vexation, and opened the next.

"Sweetest Marchesa," it began, "how can I tell you my grief at
having to postpone our dinner for Friday. My wretched cook (I gave
her seventy-five pounds a year), whom I have long suspected of
intemperate habits, was hopelessly inebriated last night, and had
to be conveyed out of the house by my husband and a dear, devoted
friend who happened to be dining with us, and deposited in a four-
wheeler. May I look in tomorrow afternoon and pour out my grief to
you? Yours cordially,

"Pamela St. Aubyn Fothergill."