He looked regretful, and shook his head. “Can’t,” he said mournfully. “Excused myself to Mrs. Beading. Told her I had another engagement. Not the thing to go there after that. Pity!”

She smiled. “You cannot hoax me into believing that you think so! Confess! You dislike masquerades!”

“Not trying to hoax you: happy to escort you anywhere! Not but what it ain’t the sort of party I like. If I were you I’d cry off, because you won’t enjoy it. Not just in your style.”

“I declare, you are the stupidest creature, Felix!” Letty broke in. “Why shouldn’t we enjoy it? It will be rare mummery, for we are all to wear masks, and—”

“Yes, a vast rout of people, and rompings!” interrupted Mr. Hethersett, in a tone of deep disapproval. “You may enjoy it: I never said you wouldn’t. All I said was, Lady Cardross won’t. Do you want a piece of advice, cousin?”

“No,” said Letty crossly.

“Mistake,” he said, shaking his head. “Not saying that ain’t an elegant gown: it is. Not saying that hat don’t become you: it does.” He left an ominous pause, during which Letty eyed him uneasily. She might despise him for what she considered his antiquated notions of propriety, but no aspirant to high fashion could afford to ignore his pronouncements on all matters of sartorial taste. He delivered his verdict. “I don’t like those pink ribbons. Or the feather. Insipid.”

“Insipid?” she exclaimed indignantly. She cast a glance down at the double row of pink knots which ornamented her dress of delicate fawn-coloured muslin.