f going in to
dinner with her cousin Pat, who arrived upon the scene at the very last
minute, having come from Oxford by a late train.

Mildred had taken care that neither Lord Wensleydown or Hector should be
anywhere near Theodora. She had secured Lord Bracondale for herself, and
did her best all through the repast to fascinate him.

And while he answered gallantly and paid her the grossest compliments,
she knew he was laughing in his sleeve all the time, and it made her
venom rise higher and higher.

Patrick Fitzgerald, the younger, was a dissipated, vicious youth, with
his mother's faded coloring and none of the Fitzgerald charm. How
infinitely her father surpassed any of the family she had seen yet,
Theodora thought.

She did not enjoy her dinner. The youth's conversation was not
interesting. But it was not until the ladies left the dining-room that
her real penance began.

It seemed as if all the women crowded to one end of the drawing-room
round Lady Harrowfield, and talked and whispered to one another, not one
making way for Theodora or showing any knowledge of her presence.
Barbara had gone off up to her room. She was too frightened of Mildred
to disobey her, and she felt she would rather not be there to see their
hateful ways to the dear, little, gentle cousin whom she thought she
could love so much.

Theodora subsided on a sofa, wondering to herself if these were the
manners of the great world in general. She hoped not; but although no
human creature could be quite happy under the circumstances, she was not
greatly distressed until she distinctly caught the name of "Mr. Brown"
from the woman Josiah had taken in amid a burst of laughter, and saw
Mildred, with a glance at her, ostentatiously suppress the speaker, who
then continued her narration in almost a whisper, amid mocking titters
of mirth.

Then anger burned in Theodora's gentle soul. They were talking about
Josiah, of course, and turning him into ridicule.

She wondered, what would be the best to do. She was too far away to
attempt to join in the conversation, or to be even able to swear she had
heard aright, although there was no doubt in her own mind about it.

So she sat perfectly still on her great sofa, her hands folded in her
lap, while two bright spots of wild rose flushed her cheeks.

She did not even pick up a book. There she sat like an alabaster statue,
and most of the women were conscious of the exquisitely beautiful
picture she