thus in her full
splendour, with crowds of people gazing at her and the elite of the
company standing round her couch, her glory was paled by the arrival
of the Countess De Courcy. Miss Thorne had now been waiting three
hours for the countess, and could not therefore but show very evident
gratification when the arrival at last took place. She and her
brother of course went off to welcome the titled grandees, and with
them, alas, went many of the signora's admirers.

"Oh, Mr. Thorne," said the countess, while in the act of being
disrobed of her fur cloaks and rerobed in her gauze shawls, "what
dreadful roads you have; perfectly frightful."

It happened that Mr. Thorne was waywarden for the district and, not
liking the attack, began to excuse his roads.

"Oh, yes, indeed they are," said the countess not minding him in the
least; "perfectly dreadful--are they not, Margaretta? Why, my dear
Miss Thorne, we left Courcy Castle just at eleven; it was only just
past eleven, was it not, George? And--"

"Just past one I think you mean," said the Honourable George, turning
from the group and eyeing the signora through his glass. The signora
gave him back his own, as the saying is, and more with it, so that
the young nobleman was forced to avert his glance and drop his glass.

"I say, Thorne," whispered he, "who the deuce is that on the sofa?"

"Dr. Stanhope's daughter," whispered back Mr. Thorne. "Signora
Neroni, she calls herself."

"Whew--ew--ew!" whistled the Honourable George. "The devil she is.
I have heard no end of stories about that filly. You must positively
introduce me, Thorne; you positively must."

Mr. Thorne, who was respectability itself, did not quite like having
a guest about whom the Honourable George De Courcy had heard no end
of stories, but he couldn't help himself. He merely resolved that
before he went to bed he would let his sister know somewhat of the
history of the lady she was so willing to welcome. The innocence of
Miss Thorne at her time of life was perfectly charming, but even
innocence may be dangerous.

"George may say what he likes," continued the countess, urging her
excuses to Miss Thorne; "I am sure we were past the castle gate before
twelve--weren't we, Margaretta?"

"Upon my word I don't know," said the Lady Margaretta, "for I was
half-asleep. But I do know that I was called some time in the middle
of the night and was dressing myself before daylight."

Wise people, when they are