"What is the Carlton like for lunching in?" she asked breezily.
The restaurant received an enthusiasticrecommendation from the

three sisters.
"Let's go and lunch there, shall we?" she suggested, and in a few

minutes' time the Smithly-Dubb mind was contemplating at close
quarters a happy vista of baked meats and approved vintage.

"Are you going to start with caviare? I am," confided Lady
Drakmanton, and the Smithly-Dubbs started with caviare. The

subsequent dishes were chosen in the same ambitious spirit, and by
the time they had arrived at the wild duck course it was beginning

to be a rather expensive lunch.
The conversation hardly kept pace with the brilliancy of the menu.

Repeated references on the part of the guests to the local political
conditions and prospects in Sir James's constituency were met with

vague "ahs" and "indeeds" from Lady Drakmanton, who might have been
expected to be specially interested.

"I think when the Insurance Act is a little better understood it
will lose some of its present unpopularity," hazarded Cecilia

Smithly-Dubb.
"Will it? I dare say. I'm afraid politics don't interest me very

much," said Lady Drakmanton.
The three Miss Smithly-Dubbs put down their cups of Turkish coffee

and stared. Then they broke into protesting giggles.
"Of course, you're joking," they said.

"Not me," was the disconcerting answer; "I can't make head or tail
of these bothering old politics. Never could, and never want to.

I've quite enough to do to manage my own affairs, and that's a
fact."

"But," exclaimed Amanda Smithly-Dubb, with a squeal of bewilderment
breaking into her voice, "I was told you spoke so informingly about

the Insurance Act at one of our social evenings."
It was Lady Drakmanton who stared now. "Do you know," she said,

with a scared look around her, "rather a dreadful thing is
happening. I'm suffering from a complete loss of memory. I can't

even think who I am. I remember meeting you somewhere, and I
remember you asking me to come and lunch with you here, and that I

accepted your kind invitation. Beyond that my mind is a positive
blank."

The scared look was transferred with intensified poignancy to the
faces of her companions.

"YOU asked US to lunch," they exclaimed hurriedly. That seemed a
more immediately important point to clear up than the question of

identity.
"Oh, no," said the vanishing hostess, "THAT I do remember about.

You insisted on my coming here because the feeding was so good, and
I must say it comes up to all you said about it. A very nice lunch

it's been. What I'm worrying about is who on earth am I? I haven't
the faintest notion?"

"You are Lady Drakmanton," exclaimed the three sisters in chorus.
"Now, don't make fun of me," she replied, crossly, "I happen to know

her quite well by sight, and she isn't a bit like me. And it's an
odd thing you should have mentioned her, for it so happens she's

just come into the room. That lady in black, with the yellow plume
in her hat, there over by the door."

The Smithly-Dubbs looked in the indicated direction, and the
uneasiness in their eyes deepened into horror. In outward

appearance the lady who had just entered the room certainly came
rather nearer to their recollection of their Member's wife than the

individual who was sitting at table with them.
"Who ARE you, then, if that is Lady Drakmanton?" they asked in

panic-stricken bewilderment.
"That is just what I don't know," was the answer; "and you don't

seem to know much better than I do."
"You came up to us in the club--"

"In what club?"
"The New Didactic, in Calais Street."

"The New Didactic!" exclaimed Lady Drakmanton with an air of
returning illumination; "thank you so much. Of course, I remember

now who I am. I'm Ellen Niggle, of the Ladies' Brasspolishing
Guild. The Club employs me to come now and then and see to the

polishing of the brass fittings. That's how I came to know Lady
Drakmanton by sight; she's very often in the Club. And you are the

ladies who so kindly asked me out to lunch. Funny how it should all
have slipped my memory, all of a sudden. The unaccustomed good food

and wine must have been too much for me; for the moment I really
couldn't call to mind who I was. Good gracious," she broke off

suddenly, "it's ten past two; I should be at a polishing job in
Whitehall. I must scuttle off like a giddy rabbit. Thanking you

ever so."
She left the room with a scuttlesufficientlysuggestive of the

animal she had mentioned, but the giddiness was all on the side of
her involuntaryhostesses. The restaurant seemed to be spinning

round them; and the bill when it appeared did nothing to restore
their composure. They were as nearly in tears as it is permissible

to be during the luncheon hour in a really good restaurant.
Financially speaking, they were well able to afford the luxury of an

elaborate lunch, but their ideas on the subject of entertaining
differed very sharply, according to the circumstances of whether

they were dispensing or receiving hospitality. To have fed
themselves liberally at their own expense was, perhaps, an

extravagance to be deplored, but, at any rate, they had had
something for their money; to have drawn an unknown and socially

unremunerative Ellen Niggle into the net of their hospitality was a
catastrophe that they could not contemplate with any degree of

calmness.
The Smithly-Dubbs never quite recovered from their unnerving

experience. They have given up politics and taken to doing good.
A BREAD AND BUTTER MISS

"Starling Chatter and Oakhill have both dropped back in the
betting," said Bertie van Tahn, throwing the morning paper across

the breakfast table.
"That leaves Nursery Tea practically favourite," said Odo Finsberry.

"Nursery Tea and Pipeclay are at the top of the betting at present,"
said Bertie, "but that French horse, Le Five O'Clock, seems to be

fancied as much as anything. Then there is Whitebait, and the
Polish horse with a name like some one trying to stifle a sneeze in

church; they both seem to have a lot of support."
"It's the most open Derby there's been for years," said Odo.

"It's simply no good trying to pick the winner on form," said
Bertie; "one must just trust to luck and inspiration."

"The question is whether to trust to one's own inspiration, or
somebody else's. Sporting Swank gives Count Palatine to win, and Le

Five O'Clock for a place."
"Count Palatine--that adds another to our list of perplexities.

Good morning, Sir Lulworth; have you a fancy for the Derby by any
chance?"

"I don't usually take much interest in turf matters," said Sir
Lulworth, who had just made his appearance, "but I always like to

have a bet on the Guineas and the Derby. This year, I confess, it's
rather difficult to pick out anything that seems markedly better

than anything else. What do you think of Snow Bunting?"
"Snow Bunting?" said Odo, with a groan, "there's another of them.

Surely, Snow Bunting has no earthly chance?"
"My housekeeper's nephew, who is a shoeing-smith in the mounted