December Love | Page 2

that Lady Sellingworth was the very last woman one had expected to do such a thing, that she was one of the old guard, whose motto is 'never give up,' that she went on expecting, and tacitly demanding, the love and admiration which most men only give with sincerity to young women long after she was no more young and had begun to lose her looks. Perhaps it was all lies."
"No, no. There is something in it."
He looked meditative.
"It certainly was a sudden business," he presently added. "I have often thought so. It came about after her return from Paris some ten years ago--that time when her jewels were stolen."
"Were they?" said Craven.
"Were they!"
Braybrooke's tone just then really did rather suggest the world's governess.
"My dear fellow--yes, they were, to the tune of about fifty thousand pounds."
"What a dreadful business! Did she get them back?"
"No. She never even tried to. But, of course, it came out eventually."
"It seems to me that everything anyone wishes to hide does come out eventually in London," said Craven, with perhaps rather youthful cynicism. "But surely Lady Sellingworth must have wanted to get her jewels back. What can have induced her to be silent about such a loss?"
"It's a mystery. I have wondered why--often," said Braybrooke, gently stroking his beard.
He even slightly wrinkled his forehead, until he remembered that such an indulgence is apt to lead to permanent lines, whereupon he abruptly became as smooth as a baby, and added:
"She must have had a tremendous reason. But I'm not aware that anyone knows what it is unless--" he paused meditatively. "I have sometimes suspected that perhaps Seymour Portman--"
"Sir Seymour, the general?"
"Yes. He knows her better than anyone else does. He cared for her when she was a girl, through both her marriages, and cares for her just as much still, I believe."
"How were her jewels stolen?" Craven asked.
Braybrooke had roused his interest. A woman who lost jewels worth fifty thousand pounds, and made no effort to get them back, must surely be an extraordinary creature.
"They were stolen in Paris at the Gare du Nord out of a first-class compartment reserved for Adela Sellingworth. That much came out through her maid."
"And nothing was done?"
"I believe not. Adela Sellingworth is said to have behaved most fatalistically when the story came out. She said the jewels were gone long ago, and there was an end of it, and that she couldn't be bothered."
"Bothered!--about such a loss?"
"And, what's more, she got rid of the maid."
"Very odd!"
"It was. Very odd! Her abdication also was very odd and abrupt. She changed her way of living, gave up society, let her hair go white, allowed her face to do whatever it chose, and, in fact, became very much what she is now--the most charming /old/ woman in London."
"Oh, is she charming?"
"Is she charming!"
Braybrooke raised his thick eyebrows and looked really pitiful.
"I will see if I can take you there one day," he continued, after a rebuking pause. "But don't count on it. She doesn't see very many people. Still, I think she might like you. You have tastes in common. She is interested in everything that is interesting--except, perhaps, in love affairs. She doesn't seem to care about love affairs. And yet some young girls are devoted to her."
"Perhaps that is because she has abdicated."
Braybrooke looked at Craven with rather sharp inquiry.
"I only mean that I don't think, as a rule, young girls are very fond of elderly women whose motto is 'never give up.'" Craven explained.
"Ah?"
Braybrooke was silent. Then, lighting a cigarette, he remarked:
"Youth is very charming, but one must say that it is set free from cruelty."
"I agree with you. But what about the old guard?" Craven asked. "Is that always so very kind?"
Then he suddenly remembered that in London there is an "old guard" of men, and that undoubtedly Braybrooke belonged to it; and, afraid that he was blundering, he changed the conversation.

CHAPTER II
A fortnight later Craven received a note from his old friend saying that Braybrooke had spoken about him to "Adela Sellingworth," and that she would be glad to know him. Braybrooke was off to Paris to stay with the Mariguys, but all Craven had to do was to leave a card at Number 18A, Berkeley Square, and when this formality had been accomplished Lady Sellingworth would no doubt write to him and suggest an hour for a meeting. Craven thanked his friend, left a card at Number 18A, and a day or two later received an invitation to go to tea with Lady Sellingworth on the following Sunday. He stayed in London on purpose to do this, although he had promised to go into the country from Saturday to Monday. Braybrooke had succeeded in rousing keen interest in him. It was not Craven's habit to be at