Janet had told her that the real thing, the real English literary thing in numberless volumes, would be on view at Lady Halifax's.

Miss Cardiff had mentioned this in their discussion of the Arcadia Club, at which institution she had scoffed so unbearably that Elfrida, while she cherished the memory of Georgiadi, had not mentioned it since.

Perhaps, after all, she reflected, Janet was just a trifle blind where people were not hall-marked.

It did not occur to her to consider how far she herself illustrated this theory.
But as she went down Mrs.Jordan's narrow flights of stairs covered with worn oil-cloth, she kissed her own soft arm for pure pleasure.
"You are ravishing to-night," she told herself.
Golightly Ticke's door was open, and he was standing in it, picturesquely smoking a cigarette with the candle burning behind him--"Just to see you pass," he said.
Elfrida paused and threw back her cloak.

"How is it ?" she asked, posing for him with its folds gathered in either hand.
Ticke scanned her with leisurely appreciation.