No one had ever suggested that Mrs. Pendercoet should disguise herself as either of these renowned beauties, but she chose to regard the proposal as imminent on every one’s lips.

“You might go as Liberty,” said the Artist.

“Do you mean the shop or the thing in New York Harbour?” said the lady. “I don’t think that would suit my style. Too massive. Now I had thought of the Queen of the Butterflies.”

“So good of you to think of others,” interrupted Rollo.

Rollo was eighteen, and respect for Mrs. Pendercoet was not one of his most marked characteristics.

“I asked for advice, not flippancy,” she protested.