y the
idols of her nursery before they had become the heroes of England; and
Meadows had much ado to defend himself against her store of anecdote and
reminiscence. "Unfair!" thought Doris, breathlessly watching the contest
of wits. "Oh, if she weren't a woman, Arthur could easily beat her!"

But she was a woman, and not at all unwilling, when hard pressed, to
take advantage of that fact.

All the same, Meadows was stirred to most unwonted efforts. He proved to
be an antagonist worth her steel; and Doris's heart swelled with secret
pride as she saw how all the other voices died down, how more and more
people came up to listen, even the young men and maidens,--throwing
themselves on the grass, around the two disputants. Finally Lady
Dunstable carried off the honours. Had she not seen Lord Beaconsfield
twice during the fatal week of his last general election, when England
turned against him, when his great rival triumphed, and all was lost?
Had he not talked to her, as great men will talk to the young and
charming women whose flatteries soften their defeats; so that, from the
wings, she had seen almost the last of that well-graced actor, caught
his last gestures and some of his last words?

"Brava, brava!" said Meadows, when the story ceased, although it had
been intended to upset one of his own most brilliant generalisations;
and a sound of clapping hands went round the circle. Lady Dunstable, a
little flushed and panting, smiled and was silent. Meadows, meanwhile,
was thinking--"How often has she told that tale? She has it by heart.
Every touch in it has been sharpened a dozen times. All the same--a
wonderful performance!"

Lord Dunstable, meanwhile, sat absolutely silent, his hat on the back
of his head, his attention fixed on his wife. As the group broke up, and
the chairs were pushed back, he said in Doris's ear--"Isn't she an
awfully clever woman, my wife?"

Before Doris could answer, she heard Lady Dunstable carelessly--but none
the less peremptorily--inviting her women guests to see their rooms.
Doris walked by her hostess's side towards the house. Every trace of
animation and charm had now vanished from that lady's manner. She was as
languid and monosyllabic as before, and Doris could only feel once again
that while her clever husband was an eagerly welcomed guest, she herself
could only expect to reckon as his appendage--a piece of family luggage.

Lady Dunstable threw open the door of a spacious bedroom. "