The white tea-gown which she wore--miracle of delicate embroidery--had never suited Lady Dunstable; it suited Doris to perfection.

Under her own simple hat, her eyes--and they were very fine eyes--shone with a soft and dancing humour.

It was all absurd--her being there--her dress--this tongue-tied hostess--and these agreeable men who made much of her! She must get Arthur out of it as soon as possible, and they would look back upon it and laugh.

But for the moment it was pleasant, it was stimulating! She found herself arguing about the new novels, and standing at bay against a whole group of clever folk who were tearing Mr.Augustus John and other gods of her idolatry to pieces.

She was not shy; she never really had been; and to find that she could talk as well as other people--or most other people--even in these critical circles, excited her.