the floor because somebody had given it her. Two execrable water-colours were on the wall for the same reason, and on the same walls were three wonderful prints of Reynolds' engraved by Smith. There was a grand piano there, making locomotion difficult, because Judy played much and badly, and Steinway, so she always said, knew what she meant better than anybody. There was some good French furniture there because it was hers, and some hopeless English armchairs because they were comfortable. Finally, there was Sybil there because she was her sister, and at this moment there had entered Harold Bilton because she had said she would see him.
She got up, and advanced to him.
' This is quite unexpected,' she said. ' I thought you were in America. Pray sit down. What has happened? Has Mrs. Emsworth also come back?'
Bilton sat down. He brought his hat and stick with him, according to the custom of his countrymen, and Sybil, who had never noticed it there, noticed it in London. She noticed it more particularly since the stick fell down from the angle where he had propped it with a loud clatter.
' No; Mrs. Emsworth is still in America,' he said. ' She has left New York, and gone on tour. I think her tour will be very successful.'
' So glad,' said Sybil. ' Tea?'
' I guess I won't, thank you,' said Bilton; ' I don't want anything. I want just to talk to you.'
Sybil pulled herself together. In other words, she tried to remember that a man in New York, if he crosses an insignificant ocean, is the same man who lands at Liverpool. She succeeded moderately well.
' And how is everybody?' she asked. ' How is Mrs. Palmer, and Amelie, and all the Long Island party?'
' They're all right,' said Bilton. ' Mrs. Palmer's giving a woodland fête this week; it will be very complete, and I
