se. By-the-way, wasn't it you, Oliver, who
scolded me last night, because I said somebody wasn't 'in Society'?"

"You said it of a particular hero of mine," laughed Marsham. "I
naturally pitied Society."

"What is Society? Where is it?" said Sir James Chide, contemptuously. "I
suppose Lady Palmerston knew."

The famous lawyer sat a little apart from the rest. Diana, who had only
caught his name, and knew nothing else of him, looked with sudden
interest at the man's great brow and haughty look. Lady Niton shook her
head emphatically.

"We know quite as well as she did. Society is just as strong and just as
exclusive as it ever was. But it is clever enough now to hide the fact
from outsiders."

"I am afraid we must agree that standards have been much relaxed," said
Lady Lucy.

"Not at all--not at all!" cried Lady Niton. "There were black sheep
then; and there are black sheep now."

Lady Lucy held her own.

"I am sure that people take less care in their invitations," she said,
with soft obstinacy. "I have often heard my mother speak of society in
her young days,--how the dear Queen's example purified it--and how much
less people bowed down to money then than now."

"Ah, that was before the Americans and the Jews," said Sir James Chide.

"People forget their responsibility," said Lady Lucy, turning to Diana,
and speaking so as not to be heard by the whole table. "In old days it
was birth; but now--now when we are all democratic--it should be
_character_.--Don't you agree with me?"

"Other people's character?" asked Diana.

"Oh, we mustn't be unkind, of course. But when a thing is notorious.
Take this young Brenner. His father's frauds ruined hundreds of poor
people. How can I receive him here, as if nothing had happened? It ought
not to be forgotten. He himself ought to _wish_ to live quietly!"

Diana gave a hesitating assent, adding: "But I'm sorry for Mr. Brenner!"

Mr. Ferrier, as she spoke, leaned slightly across the tea-table as
though to listen to what she said. Lady Lucy moved away, and Mr.
Ferrier, after spending a moment of quiet scrutiny on the young mistress
of Beechcote, came to sit beside her.

Mrs. Fotheringham threw herself back in her chair with a little yawn.
"Mamma is more difficult than the Almighty!" she said, in a loud aside
to Sir James Chide. "One sin--or even somebody else's sin--and you are
done for."

Sir James, who was a Catholic, and scrupulous in speech, pursed his lips
slig