“And have you had Lady Teesdale’s letter?”
“Yes. And I’ve accepted.”
“Good. We’ll have a real good time. But the worst of it is Cis has been asked too!”
“I suppose your mother engineered that?”
“I don’t think so. You see, he’s Lady Teesdale’s nephew. And it’s a big family party. Old Mr. Bainbridge, the steel king of Sheffield, and his wife are to be there. She is a fat, rather coarse woman who has wonderful jewels. They say that old Bainbridge gave eighty thousand pounds for a unique string of stones, emeralds, diamonds, rubies and sapphires which belonged to the old Sultan of Turkey, Abdul Hamid, and which were sold in Paris six months ago.”
“Yes. I’ve always heard that the old fellow has money to burn. Wish I had!”
“So do I, Charlie. But, after all, money isn’t everything. What shall we do to-night?”
“Let’s dance later on—shall we?” he suggested, and she consented readily.
They sat by the fire together for half an hour chatting, while she told him of her doings in Paris after he had left. Then she rose and made an inspection of his bachelor room, examining his photographs, as was her habit. Ten years ago a girl would hesitate to go to a bachelor’s room, but not so to-day when women can venture wherever men can go.