“But do you mean when you lose things—or in your life?”

“I mean when I lose things—or when I want to get something I want—I am very nearly ALWAYS successful. And I always feel there is some sort of higher power which does it for me.”

“Finds your cloak for you.”

“Yes. Wasn’t it extraordinary? I felt when I saw my cloak in Scotland Yard: There, I KNEW I should recover you. And I always feel, as I say, that there is some higher power which helps me. Do you feel the same?”

“No, not that way, worse luck. I lost a batch of music a month ago which didn’t belong to me—and which I couldn’t replace. But I never could recover it: though I’m sure nobody wanted it.”

“How very unfortunate! Whereas my fur cloak was just the thing that gets stolen most.”

“I wished some power would trace my music: but apparently we aren’t all gifted alike with guardian angels.”

“Apparently not. And that is how I regard it: almost as a gift, you know, that my fairy godmother gave me in my cradle.”

“For always recovering your property?”

“Yes—and succeeding in my undertakings.”

“I’m afraid I had no fairy godmother.”

“Well—I think I had. And very glad I am of it.”

“Why, yes,” said Aaron, looking at his hostess.

So the dinner sailed merrily on.

“But does Beethoven make you feel,” said Aaron as an afterthought, “in the same way—that you will always find the things you have lost?”

“Yes—he makes me feel the same faith: that what I lose will be returned to me. Just as I found my cloak. And that if I enter into an undertaking, it will be successful.”

“And your life has been always successful?”

“Yes—almost always. We have succeeded with almost everything.”

“Why, yes,” said Aaron, looking at her again.

But even so, he could see a good deal of hard wornness under her satisfaction. She had had her suffering, sure enough. But none the less, she was in the main satisfied. She sat there, a good hostess, and expected the homage due to her success. And of course she got it. Aaron himself did his little share of shoe–licking, and swallowed the taste of boot–polish with a grimace, knowing what he was about.

The dinner wound gaily to an end. The ladies retired. Sir William left his seat of honour at the end of the table and came and sat next to Aaron, summoning the other three men to cluster near.

“Now, Colonel,” said the host, “send round the bottle.”

With a flourish of the elbow and shoulder, the Colonel sent on the port, actually port, in those bleak, post–war days!

“Well, Mr. Sisson,” said Sir William, “we will drink to your kind Providence: providing, of course, that we shall give no offence by so doing.”

“No, sir; no, sir! The Providence belonged to Mr. Lilly. Mr. Sisson put his money on kindly fortune, I believe,” said Arthur, who rosy and fresh with wine, looked as if he would make a marvelous bonne bouchee for a finely–discriminating cannibal.