And I wanted to let you see that I could do something besides loll about in a drawing-room and smoke cigarettes.

It's all I can do.

But it's something." She said it with the humility of the Jongleur de Notre Dame in Anatole Frances's story.
In Eaton Square, where I had a luncheon engagement, she dropped me, and drove off smiling, evidently well pleased with herself.

My hostess was standing by the window when I was shown into the drawing-room.

I noted the faintest possible little malicious twinkle in her eye.
During the afternoon I had a telephonic message from my doctor, who asked me why I had neglected him for a fortnight and urged me to go to Harley Street at once.