in the knot of persons gathered round a past Prime
Minister who was standing in the middle of the largest room discoursing
in the genial, almost jovial, manner natural to him at these times. The
two or three ladies forming his audience had been joined by another
in black and white, and it was on her that Pierston's attention was
directed, as well as the great statesman's, whose first sheer gaze
at her, expressing 'Who are you?' almost audibly, changed into an
interested, listening look as the few words she spoke were uttered--for
the Minister differed from many of his standing in being extremely
careful not to interrupt a timid speaker, giving way in an instant if
anybody else began with him. Nobody knew better than himself that all
may learn, and his manner was that of an unconceited man who could catch
an idea readily, even if he could not undertake to create one.

The lady told her little story--whatever it was Jocelyn could not hear
it--the statesman laughed: 'Haugh-haugh-haugh!'

The lady blushed. Jocelyn, wrought up to a high tension by the aforesaid
presentiment that his Shelleyan 'One-shape-of-many-names' was about to
reappear, paid little heed to the others, watching for a full view of
the lady who had won his attention.

That lady remained for the present partially screened by her neighbours.
A diversion was caused by Lady Channelcliffe bringing up somebody to
present to the ex-Minister; the ladies got mixed, and Jocelyn lost sight
of the one whom he was beginning to suspect as the stealthily returned
absentee.

He looked for her in a kindly young lady of the house, his hostess's
relation, who appeared to more advantage that night than she had ever
done before--in a sky-blue dress, which had nothing between it and the
fair skin of her neck, lending her an unusually soft and sylph-like
aspect. She saw him, and they converged. Her look of 'What do you think
of me NOW?' was suggested, he knew, by the thought that the last time
they met she had appeared under the disadvantage of mourning clothes, on
a wet day in a country-house, where everybody was cross.

'I have some new photographs, and I want you to tell me whether they are
good,' she said. 'Mind you are to tell me truly, and no favour.'

She produced the pictures from an adjoining drawer, and they sat down
together upon an ottoman for the purpose of examination. The portraits,
taken by the last fashionable photographer, were very good, and he
told her s