great relief, a
modern building, supplied with all the newest comforts and luxuries, she
at once began to plan a grand party, in celebration of the return of the
bride and bridegroom.

"I don't wish to praise myself," Mrs. Eyrecourt said; "but if ever there
was a forgiving woman, I am that person. We will say no more, Stella,
about your truly contemptible wedding--five people altogether, including
ourselves and the Lorings. A grand ball will set you right with society,
and that is the one thing needful. Tea and coffee, my dear Romayne,
in your study; Coote's quadrille band; the supper from Gunter's, the
grounds illuminated with colored lamps; Tyrolese singers among the
trees, relieved by military music--and, if there _are_ any African or
other savages now in London, there is room enough in these charming
grounds for encampments, dances, squaws, scalps, and all the rest of it,
to end in a blaze of fireworks."

A sudden fit of coughing seized her, and stopped the further enumeration
of attractions at the contemplated ball. Stella had observed that her
mother looked unusually worn and haggard, through the disguises of paint
and powder. This was not an uncommon result of Mrs. Eyrecourt's devotion
to the demands of society; but the cough was something new, as a symptom
of exhaustion.

"I am afraid, mamma, you have been overexerting yourself," said Stella.
"You go to too many parties."

"Nothing of the sort, my dear; I am as strong as a horse. The other
night, I was waiting for the carriage in a draught (one of the most
perfect private concerts of the season, ending with a delightfully
naughty little French play)--and I caught a slight cold. A glass of
water is all I want. Thank you. Romayne, you are looking shockingly
serious and severe; our ball will cheer you. If you would only make a
bonfire of all those horrid books, you don't know how it would improve
your spirits. Dearest Stella, I will come and lunch here to-morrow--you
are within such a nice easy drive from town--and I'll bring my
visiting-book, and settle about the invitations and the day. Oh, dear
me, how late it is. I have nearly an hour's drive before I get to my
garden party. Good-by, my turtle doves good-by."

She was stopped, on the way to her carriage, by another fit of coughing.
But she still persisted in making light of it. "I'm as strong as a
horse," she repeated, as soon as she could speak--and skipped into the
carriage like a young girl.

"Your m