Alick Craven, who was something in the Foreign Office, had been living
in London, except for an interval of military service during the
war, for several years, and had plenty of interesting friends and
acquaintances, when one autumn day, in a club, Frances Braybrooke, who
knew everybody, sat down beside him and began, as his way was, talking
of people. Braybrooke talked well and was an exceedingly agreeable man,
but he seldom discussed ideas. His main interest lay in the doings of
the human race, the "human animal," to use a favorite phrase of his, in
what the human race was "up to." People were his delight. He could not
live away from the centre of their activities. He was never tired
of meeting new faces, and would go to endless trouble to bring an
interesting personality within the circle of his acquaintance. Craven's
comparative indifference about society, his laziness in social matters,
was a perpetual cause of surprise to Braybrooke, who nevertheless was
always ready to do Craven a good turn, whether he wanted it done to him
or not. Indeed, Craven was indebted to his kind old friend for various
introductions which had led to pleasant times, and for these he was
quite grateful. Braybrooke was much older than most people, though he
seldom looked it, and decades older than Craven, and he had a genial way
of taking those younger than himself in charge, always with a view to
their social advancement. He was a very ancient hand at the social
game; he loved to play it; and he wanted as many as possible to join
in, provided, of course, that they were "suitable" for such a purpose.
Perhaps he slightly resembled "the world's governess," as a witty woman
had once called him. But he was really a capital fellow and a mine of
worldly wisdom.
On the occasion in question, after chatting for about an hour, he
happened to mention Lady Sellingworth--"Adela Sellingworth," as he
called her. Craven did not know her, and said so in the simplest way.
"I don't know Lady Sellingworth."
Braybrooke sat for a moment in silence looking at Craven over his
carefully trimmed grey and brown beard.
"How very strange!" he said at last.
"Why is it strange?"
"All these years in London and not know Adela Sellingworth!"
"I know about her, of course. I know she was a famous beauty when King
Edward was Prince of Wales, and was tremendously prominent in society
after he came to the throne. But I have never seen her about since I
have been settled in London. To tell the honest truth, I thought Lady
Sellingworth was what is called a back number."
"Adela Sellingworth a back number!"
Braybrooke bristled gently and caught his beard-point with his
broad-fingered right hand. His small, observant hazel eyes rebuked
Craven mildly, and he slightly shook his head, covered with thick,
crinkly and carefully brushed hair.
"Well--but," Craven protested. "But surely she long ago retired from the
fray! Isn't she over sixty?"
"She is about sixty. But that is nothing nowadays."