of
the gems, and as I had declined this for the twentieth time, darkness
had come on, and the gong rang for dinner. I dined alone in the _salle
a manger_, which appeared to be set apart for those calling at the
mansion on business, and the meagreness of the fare, together with the
indifferent nature of the claret, strengthened my determination to
return to London as early as possible next morning.

When the repast was finished, the dignified servingman said gravely to
me,--

'The Lady Alicia asks if you will be good enough to give her a few
moments in the drawing-room, sir.'

I followed the man to the drawing-room, and found the young lady
seated at the piano, on which she was strumming idly and
absentmindedly, but with a touch, nevertheless, that indicated
advanced excellence in the art of music. She was not dressed as one
who had just risen from the dining table, but was somewhat grimly and
commonly attired, looking more like a cottager's daughter than a
member of the great country family. Her head was small, and crowned
with a mass of jet black hair. My first impression on entering the
large, rather dimly lighted room was unfavourable, but that vanished
instantly under the charm of a manner so graceful and vivacious, that
in a moment I seemed to be standing in a brilliant Parisian _salon_
rather than in the sombre drawing-room of an English country house.
Every poise of her dainty head; every gesture of those small, perfect
hands; every modulated tone of the voice, whether sparkling with
laughter or caressing in confidential speech, reminded me of the
_grandes dames_ of my own land. It was strange to find this perfect
human flower amidst the gloomy ugliness of a huge square house built
in the time of the Georges; but I remembered now that the Blairs are
the English equivalent of the de Bellairs of France, from which family
sprang the fascinating Marquise de Bellairs, who adorned the Court of
Louis XIV. Here, advancing towards me, was the very reincarnation of
the lovely marquise, who gave lustre to this dull world nearly three
hundred years ago. Ah, after all, what are the English but a conquered
race! I often forget this, and I trust I never remind them of it, but
it enables one to forgive them much. A vivid twentieth-century
marquise was Lady Alicia, in all except attire. What a dream some of
our Parisian dress artists could have made of her, and here she was
immured in this dull English house in the high-neck