she repeated to herself bitterly, having an ill-defined
consciousness that her own submission was something very different. She
would have been obliged to allow, if any one had said it to her, that
what she submitted to could not take the shape of duty, but was
submission to a yoke drawn on her by an action she was ashamed of, and
worn with a strength of selfish motives that left no weight for duty to
carry.

The drawing-rooms in Park Lane, all white, gold, and pale crimson, were
agreeably furnished, and not crowded with guests, before Mr. and Mrs.
Grandcourt entered; and more than half an hour of instrumental music
was being followed by an interval of movement and chat. Klesmer was
there with his wife, and in his generous interest for Mirah he proposed
to accompany her singing of Leo's "_O patria mia_," which he had before
recommended her to choose, as more distinctive of her than better known
music. He was already at the piano, and Mirah was standing there
conspicuously, when Gwendolen, magnificent in her pale green velvet and
poisoned diamonds, was ushered to a seat of honor well in view of them.
With her long sight and self-command she had the rare power of quickly
distinguishing persons and objects on entering a full room, and while
turning her glance toward Mirah she did not neglect to exchange a bow
with Klesmer as she passed. The smile seemed to each a lightning-flash
back on that morning when it had been her ambition to stand as the
"little Jewess" was standing, and survey a grand audience from the
higher rank of her talent--instead of which she was one of the ordinary
crowd in silk and gems, whose utmost performance it must be to admire
or find fault. "He thinks I am in the right road now," said the lurking
resentment within her.

Gwendolen had not caught sight of Deronda in her passage, and while she
was seated acquitting herself in chat with Sir Hugo, she glanced round
her with careful ease, bowing a recognition here and there, and fearful
lest an anxious-looking exploration in search of Deronda might be
observed by her husband, and afterward rebuked as something "damnably
vulgar." But all traveling, even that of a slow gradual glance round a
room, brings a liability to undesired encounters, and amongst the eyes
that met Gwendolen's, forcing her into a slight bow, were those of the
"amateur too fond of Meyerbeer," Mr. Lush, whom Sir Hugo continued to
find useful as a half-caste among gentlemen. He was stand