es more frou-frou is audible, heralding the approach of a second smart woman--Lady Betty herself this time--with her lawful Harborough stepping somewhat insignificantly behind her.
Lady Betty is so exceedingly glad to see the two girls that Peggy asks herself whether her memory has played her false as to the amount of intimacy that existed between them last year. She has not overheard the aside that passed between her ladyship and her husband as she sailed up the long room:
'Who are they? Have we ever met them here before? Are they all one lot?'
Nor, indeed, would it ever have entered into the guileless Peggy's mind as possible that a woman who took her by both hands, and smiled into both eyes, could have clean forgotten, not only her name, but her very existence.
Once more the folding-doors roll wide, to admit this time, at last, the hostess, Lady Roupell, and her nephew, Freddy Ducane, who--both chronically late for everything--arrive simultaneously; the one still fastening his s
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