ventional world, but fourteen consecutive winters at Palm Beach seemed almost sufficient even to this group and there was some talk of a more novel hegira, a motor trip along the Italian Riviera or an excursion to Shepheard's Hotel. Laura had begged Campaspe to join this comparatively radical party but, although Campaspe was still planning to go abroad a little later, she had no intention of travelling with any one else. Nor did the names of Spezia, Mentone, Monte Carlo, Nice, Cannes, and Genoa intrigue her. In the back of her mind were the happier alternatives of Trebizond, Chypre, Stamboul, Saïgon, and Ronda. She did not explain this directly to Laura, however. She did not definitely, indeed, refuse to become a factor in Laura's plan. It was part of her power and charm that she seldom said yes or no. At least, whenever she did say one or the other, nobody could be entirely certain that she meant it.
One day she went for a long course in her car, making several calls, stopping at Bergdorf and Goodman's to order a gown, looking in at an exhibition at the Bourgeois Gallery, and dropping off at the little shop of T. Azeez, where she purchased a pair of ear-rings, clusters of sardonyx grapes to match the crystal pendants dangling from her wrist. On her return Frederika met her at the door with the news that Harold was in the garden. Throwing her sable scarf over a chair, she hastened out to join him.
