LITMIR.BIZ

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is he?" observed Mr. Shiffney. "I've never heard of him. Is he one of your special pals?"

      "Not yet. I met him at Max's. He's a composer, and I want to know what he's like."

      "I expect he's like all the rest."

      "No, he isn't!" she observed decisively.

      "Why won't he come? Perhaps he's a bad sailor."

      "He didn't even trouble himself to say that. He was in such a hurry to refuse that he didn't bother about an excuse. And this afternoon he called, when I was in, and never asked for me, only left cards and bolted, although I had been to his house to ask him to come on The Wanderer."

      "Afraid of you, is he?"

      "I don't know, I'm sure. He's never been among us."

      "Poor chap! But surely that's a reason for him to want to get in?"

      "Wouldn't you think so? Wouldn't anyone think so? The way I'm bombarded! But he seems only anxious to keep out of everything."

      "A pose very likely."

      "I don't believe it is."

      "I leave it to you. No one sharper in London. Is he a gentleman—all that sort of thing?"

      "Oh, of course!"

      Mr. Shiffney pulled up his trousers a little more, exposing a pair of striped silk socks which emerged from shining boots protected by white spats.

      "To be sure. If he hadn't been he'd have jumped at you and The Wanderer."

      "Naturally. I shan't go at all now! What an unlucky woman I always am!"

      "You never let anyone know it."

      "Well, Jimmy, I'm not quite a fool. Be down on your luck and not a soul will stay near you."

      "I should think not. Why should they? One wants a bit of life, not to hear people howling and groaning all about one. It's awful to be with anyone who's under the weather."

      "Ghastly! I can't stand it! But, all the same, it's a fearful corvée to keep it up when you're persecuted as I am."

      "Poor old Addie!"

      Mr. Shiffney threw his cigar into the grate reflectively and lightly touched his moustaches, which were turned upward, but not in a military manner.

      "Things never seem quite right for you," he continued.

      "And other women have such a splendid time!" she exclaimed. "The disgusting thing is that he goes all the while to Violet Mansfield."

      "She's dull enough and quite old too."

      "No, she isn't dull. You're wrong there."

      "I daresay. She doesn't amuse me."

      "She's not your sort."

      "Too feverish, too keen, brainy in the wrong way. I like brains, mind you, and I know where they are. But I don't see the fun of having them jumped at one."

      "He does, apparently, unless it's really Charmian."

      "The girl? She's not bad. Wants to be much cleverer than she is, of course, like pretty nearly all the girls, except the sporting lot; but not bad."

      "Jimmy"—Mrs. Shiffney's eyes began once more to look audacious—"shall I ask Charmian Mansfield to come on the yacht?"

      "You think that might bring him? Why not ask both of them?"

      "No; I won't have the mother!"

      "Why not?"

      "Because I won't!"

      "The best of reasons, too."

      "You understand us better than any man in London."

      She sat reflecting. She was beginning to look quite cheerful.

      "It would be rather fun," she resumed, after a minute. "Charmian Mansfield, Max—if he can get away—Paul Lane. It isn't the party I'd thought of, but still—"

      "Which of them were you going to take?"

      "Never mind."

      "I don't. And where did you mean to go?"

      "I told him to the Mediterranean."

      "But it wasn't!"

      "Oh, I don't know! Where can one go? That's another thing. It's always the same old places, unless one has months to spare, and then one gets bored with the people one's asked. Things are so difficult."

      "One place is very much like another."

      "To you. But I always hope for an adventure round the corner."

      "I've been round a lot of corners in my time, but I might almost as well have stuck to the club."

      "Of course you might!"

      She got up.

      "I must think about Charmian," she said, as she went casually out of the room.

      Mrs. Shiffney turned the new idea over and over in her restless mind, which was always at work in a desultory but often clever way. She could not help being clever. She had never studied, never applied herself, never consciously tried to master anything, but she was quick-witted, had always lived among brilliant and highly cultivated people, had seen everything, been everywhere, known everyone, looked into all the books that had been talked about, cast at least a glance at all the pictures which had made any stir. And she gathered impressions swiftly, and, moreover, had a natural flair for all that was first-rate, original, or strange. As she was quite independent in mind, and always took her own line, she had become an arbiter, a leader of taste. What she liked soon became liked in London and Paris throughout a large circle. Unfortunately, she was changeable and apt to be governed by personal feeling in matters connected with art. When she cast away an artist she generally cast away his art with him. If it was first-rate she did not condemn it as bad. She contented herself with saying that she was "sick of it." And very soon a great many of her friends, and their friends, were sick of it, too. She was a quicksand because she was a singularly complete egoist. But very few people who met her failed to come under the spell of her careless charm, and many, because she had much impulse, swore that she had a large heart. Only to her husband, and occasionally, in a fit of passion, to someone who she thought had treated her badly, did she show a lachrymose side of her nature. She was noted for her gaiety and joie de vivre and for the energy with which she pursued enjoyment. Her cynicism did not cut deep, her irony was seldom poisoned. She spoke well of people, and was generous with her money. With her time she was less generous. She was not of those who are charitable with their golden hours. "I can't be bothered!" was the motto of her life. And wise people did not bother her.

      She had seen that, for a moment, Claude Heath had been tempted by the invitation to the cruise. A sudden light had gleamed in his eyes, and her swift apprehension had gathered something of what was passing in his imagination. But almost immediately the light had vanished and the quick refusal had come. And she knew that it was a refusal which she could not persuade him to cancel unless she called someone to her assistance. His austerity, which attracted her whimsical and unscrupulous nature, fought something else in him and conquered. But the something else, if it could be revived, given new strength, would make a cruise with him, even to all the old places, quite interesting, Mrs. Shiffney thought. And any refusal always made her greedy and obstinate. "I will have it!" was the natural reply of her nature to any "You can't have it!"

      She often acted impulsively, hurried by caprices and desires, and that same evening she sent the following note to Charmian:

      Grosvenor Square,

       Thursday.

      Dear Charmian—You've never been on the yacht, though I've always been dying to have you come. I've been glued to London for quite a time, and am getting sick of it. Aren't you? Always the same things and people. I feel I must run away if I can get up a pleasant party to elope with

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