chronic grin had become a little broader; Sir Mark le Poer was tugging at his moustache. That impossible person, Castlestuart-Stuart, was haw-hawing with the keenest enjoyment. Constance Maitland felt that it was time to come to the rescue of her country even at the sacrifice of her country-women—so, smiling openly, she said to the too truthful Castlestuart-Stuart:
"I can't blame you for laughing—it makes all the initiated laugh. But you must see for yourself that it is only the newest of the new who do such things. All people new to society do strange things."
"Never saw it done anywhere before, 'pon my soul," replied this incorrigible Briton. "We have our new people at home—tea, whiskey, drapery, and furniture shops—and rawer than you can think—but they wouldn't dare—haw, haw! to give a dinner without an Englishman at it!"
Constance bit her lip—Castlestuart-Stuart was telling the truth, and there was no gainsaying it; nor could she offer any fuller explanation than she had already given. Mrs. Hill-Smith and Eleanor Baldwin were glaring at her, but Constance re-
