She went down to join the others on the terrace outside. Through the branches of mimosa, she looked out over the blue of the Mediterranean, and, whilst listening with half an ear to Lady Tamplin’s chatter, she was glad that she had come. This was better than St. Mary Mead.

That evening she put on the mauvy pink dress that went by the name of soupir d’automne , and after smiling at her reflection in the mirror, went downstairs with, for the first time in her life, a faint feeling of shyness.

Most of Lady Tamplin’s guests had arrived, and since noise was the essential of Lady Tamplin’s parties, the din was already terrific. Chubby rushed up to Katherine, pressed a cocktail upon her, and took her under his wing.

“Oh, here you are, Derek,” cried Lady Tamplin, as the door opened to admit the last comer. “Now at last we can have something to eat. I am starving.”