had a few French mirrors and girandoles upon them, half a dozen fine
French portraits, too, here and there, let into the wall in oval frames.
The subdued light came from the white sides of the room, and seemed to
be there solely for social purposes. You could hardly have read or
written in the room, but you could see a beautiful woman in a beautiful
dress there, and you could talk there, either _tete-a-tete_, or to the
assembled company, to perfection, so cunningly was it all devised.

When the Elsmeres entered, there were about a dozen people present--ten
gentlemen and two ladies. One of the ladies, Madame de Netteville, was
lying back in the corner of a velvet divan placed against the wall, a
screen between her and a splendid fire that threw its blaze out into the
room. The other, a slim woman with closely curled fair hair, and a neck
abnormally long and white, sat near her, and the circle of men was
talking indiscriminately to both.

As the footman announced Mr. and Mrs. Elsmere, there was a general stir
of surprise. The men looked round; Madame de Netteville half rose with a
puzzled look. It was more than a month since she had dropped her
invitation. Then a flash, not altogether of pleasure, passed over her
face, and she said a few hasty words to the woman near her, advancing
the moment afterwards to give her hand to Catherine.

'This is very kind of you, Mrs. Elsmere, to remember me so soon. I had
imagined you were hardly settled enough yet to give me the pleasure of
seeing you.'

But the eyes fixed on Catherine, eyes which took in everything, were not
cordial, for all their smile.

Catherine, looking up at her, was overpowered by her excessive manner,
and by the woman's look of conscious sarcastic strength, struggling
through all the outer softness of beauty and exquisite dress.

'Mr. Elsmere, you will find this room almost as hot, I am afraid, as
that afternoon on which we met last. Let me introduce you to Count
Wielandt--Mr. Elsmere. Mrs. Elsmere, will you come over here, beside
Lady Aubrey Willert.'

Robert found himself bowing to a young diplomatist, who seemed to him
to look at him very much as he himself might have scrutinised an
inhabitant of New Guinea. Lady Aubrey made an imperceptible movement of
the head as Catherine was presented to her, and Madame de Netteville,
smiling and biting her lip a little, fell back into her seat.

There was a faint odour of smoke in the room. As Catherine sat down, a