"Probably. But would she love them?""I don't think you quite understand her," said Miss Van Tuyn. "I'm quite sure I don't. Still--"
"In past years I am certain she has been to all the odd cafes of Paris."
"Perhaps. But one changes. And you yourself said there were--or was it had been?--two Adela Sellingworths, and that you only knew one."
"Yes. But perhaps at the Cafe Royal I should get to know the other."
"May she not be dead?"
"I have a theory that nothing of us really dies while we live. Our abode changes. We know that. But I believe the inhabitant is permanent. We are what we were, with, of course, innumerable additions brought to us by the years. For instance, I believe that Lady Sellingworth now is what she was, to all intents and purposes, with additions which naturally have made great apparent changes in her. An old moss-covered house, overgrown with creepers, looks quite different from the same house when it is new and bare. But go inside--the rooms are the same, and under the moss and the creepers are the same walls."
"It may be so. But what a difference the moss and the creepers make. Some may be climbing roses."
Craven felt the shrewd girlish eyes were looking at him closely.
"In her case some of them certainly are!" she said. "Oh, do look at them turning the corner! If Cirella were here he would have a subject for one of his most perfect caricatures. It is the leaning tower of Pisa with a bat."
The left wing of Ambrose Jennings's cloak flew out as he whirled into Regent Street by Lady Sellingworth's side.

CHAPTER VI 
At the door of the Cafe Royal they stopped, and Miss Van Tuyn laid a hand on Lady Sellingworth's arm.
"Do come in, dearest. It will really amuse you," she said urgently.
"And--I'll be truthful--I want to show you off to the Georgians as my friend. I want them to know how wonderful an Edwardian can be."
"Please--please!" pleaded Jennings from under his sombrero. "Dick would revel in you. You would whip him into brilliance. I know it. You admire his work, surely?"
"I admire it very much."
"And he is more wonderful still when he's drunk. And to-night--I feel it--he will be drunk. I pledge myself that Dick Garstin will be drunk."
"I'm sure it would be a very great privilege to see Mr. Garstin drunk. But I must go home. Good night, dear Beryl."
"But the little Bolshevik! You must meet the little Bolshevik!" cried Jennings.
Lady Sellingworth shook her deer-like head, smiling.
"Good night, Mr. Craven."
"But he is going to get you a taxi," said Miss Van Tuyn.
"Yes, and if you will allow me I am going to leave you at your door," said Craven, with decision.
A line appeared in Miss Van Tuyn's low forehead, but she only said: "And then you will come back and join us."
"Thank you," said 

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