Bubbles, who looked such a child, must now be--yes, not far from two-and-twenty.
Miss Farrow checked a sigh.

She had been twenty-one herself--but what a charming, distinguished, delightful twenty-one--when she had formed one of a little group round the font of St.Peter's, Eaton Square.

She remembered what an ugly baby she had thought Bubbles, and how she had been anything but pleased when someone present facetiously observed that god-mother and godchild had very much the same type of nose and ears and mouth! To-night Bubbles was wearing an eccentric, and yet very becoming garment.

To the uninitiated it might have appeared fashioned out of an old-fashioned chintz curtain.

As a matter of fact, the intricate flower pattern with which it was covered had been copied on a Lyons loom from one of those eighteenth century embroidered waistcoats which are rightly prized by connoisseurs.