only in books and newspapers; but you who
have been living in the world must have so much to say. Let me be the
listener.'

Lady Kirkbank desired nothing better. She rattled on for three-quarters
of an hour about her doings in the great world, her social triumphs, the
wonderful things she had done for Sir George, who seemed to be as a
puppet in her hands, the princes and princelings she had entertained,
the songs she had composed, the comedy she had written, for private
representation only, albeit the Haymarket manager was dying to produce
it, the scathing witticisms with which she had withered her social
enemies. She would have gone on much longer, but for the gong, which
reminded her that it was time to dross for dinner.

Half-an-hour later Lady Kirkbank was in the drawing-room, where Mary had
retired to the most shadowy corner, anxious to escape the gaze of the
fashionable visitor.

But Lady Kirkbank was not inclined to take much notice of Mary. Lesbia's
brilliant beauty, the exquisite Greek head, the faultless complexion,
the deep, violet eyes, caught Georgina Kirkbank's eye the moment she had
entered the room, and she saw that this girl and no other must be the
beauty, the beloved and chosen grandchild.

'How do you do, my dear?' she said, taking Lesbia's hand, and then, as
if with a gush of warm feeling, suddenly drawing the girl towards her
and kissing her on both cheeks. 'I am going to be desperately fond of
you, and I hope you will soon contrive to like me--just a little.'

'I feel sure that I shall like you very much,' Lesbia answered sweetly.
'I am prepared to love you as grandmother's old friend.'

'Oh, my dear, to think that I should ever be the old friend of anybody's
grandmother!' sighed Lady Kirkbank, with unaffected regret. 'When I was
your age I used to think all old people odious. It never occurred to me
that I should live to be one of them.'

'Then you had no dear grandmother whom you loved,' said Lesbia, 'or you
would have liked old people for her sake.'

'No, my love, I had no grandparents. I had a father, and he was
all-sufficient--anything beyond him in the ancestral line would have
been a burden laid upon me greater than I could bear, as the poet says.'

Dinner was announced, and Mary came shyly out of her corner, blushing
deeply.

'And this is Lady Mary, I suppose?' said Lady Kirkbank, in an off-hand
way, 'How do you do, my dear? I am going to steal your sister.'

'I am very glad,