moustache, pink and white complexion, and large bright blue eyes, his
dandified dress, his eyeglass and buttonhole, he had the fresh, fair
look of an Englishman, the dry brilliance of a Parisian, the _naivete_
of a genius, the manners of a courtier, and behind it all the diabolic
humour of the Neapolitan. He was small, thin and slight, with a curious
dignity of movement.

* * * * *

'Ah, Tito,' cried Bruce cordially. 'Here you are!'

The dinner was bright and gay from the very beginning, even before the
first glass of champagne. It began with an optimistic view of the war,
then, dropping the grave subject, they talked of people, theatres,
books, and general gossip. In all these things Madame Frabelle took the
lead. Indeed, she had begun at once laying down the law in a musical
voice but with a determined manner that gave those who knew her to
understand only too well that she intended to go steadily on, and
certainly not to stop to breathe before the ices.

Sir Tito Landi, fixing his eyeglass in his bright blue eye, took in
Madame Frabelle in one long look, and smiled at her sympathetically.

'What do you think of her?' murmured Edith to Landi.

Hypnotised and slightly puzzled as she was by her guest, she was
particularly curious for his opinion, as she knew him to be the best
judge of character of her acquaintance. He had some of the
capriciousness of the spoilt, successful artist, which showed itself,
except to those whom he regarded as real friends, in odd variations of