SARAH TREFUSIS I Sarah Trefusis lived, with her mother, in the smallest house in March Square, a really tiny house, like a box, squeezed breathlessly between two fat buildings, but looking, with its white paint and green doors, smarter than either of them.

Lady Charlotte Trefusis, Sarah's mother, was elegant, penniless and a widow; Captain B.Trefusis, her husband, had led the merriest of lives until a game of polo carried him reluctantly from a delightful world and forced Lady Charlotte to consider the problem of having a good time alone on nothing at all.

But it may be said that, on the whole, she succeeded.

She was the best-dressed widow in London, and went everywhere, but the little house in March Square was the scene of a most strenuous campaign, every day presenting its defeat or victory, and every minute of the day threatening overwhelming disaster if something were not done immediately.

Lady Charlotte had the smallest feet and hands outside China, a pile of golden hair above the face of a pink-and-white doll.
Staring from this face, however, were two of the loveliest, most unscrupulous of eyes, and those eyes did more for Lady Charlotte's precarious income than any other of her resources.