ered Lady Maulevrier, with a
sigh. 'I have kept you out in the cold so long, Mary. Lesbia--well,
Lesbia has been a kind of infatuation for me, and like all infatuations
mine has ended in disappointment and bitterness. Ambition has been the
bane of my life, Mary; and when I could no longer be ambitious for
myself--when my own existence had become a mere death in life, I began
to dream and to scheme for the aggrandisement of my granddaughter.
Lesbia's beauty, Lesbia's elegance seemed to make success certain--and
so I dreamt my dream--which may never be fulfilled.'

'What was your dream, grandmother? May I know all about it?'

'That was the secret I spoke of just now. Yes, Mary, you may know, for I
fear the dream will never be realised. I wanted my Lesbia to become Lord
Hartfield's wife. I would have brought them together myself, could I
have but gone to London; but, failing that, I fancied Lady Kirkbank
would have divined my wishes without being told them, and would have
introduced Hartfield to Lesbia; and now the London season is drawing to
a close, and Hartfield and Lesbia have never met. He hardly goes
anywhere, I am told. He devotes himself exclusively to politics; and he
is not in Lady Kirkbank's set. A terrible disappointment to me, Mary!'

'It is a pity,' said Mary. 'Lesbia is so lovely. If Lord Hartfield were
fancy-free he ought to fall in love with her, could they but meet. I
thought that in London all fashionable people knew each other, and were
continually meeting.'

'It used to be so in my day, Mary. Almack's was a common ground, even if
there had been no other. But now there are circles and circles, I
believe, rings that touch occasionally, but never break and mingle. I am
afraid poor Georgie's set is not quite so nice as I could have wished.
Yet Lesbia writes as if she were in raptures with her chaperon, and with
all the people she meets. And then Georgie tells me that this Mr.
Smithson whom Lesbia has refused is a very important personage, a
millionaire, and very likely to be made a peer.'

'A new peer,' said Mary, making a wry face. 'One would rather have an
old commoner. I always fancy a newly-made peer must be like a
newly-built house, glaring, and staring, and arid and uncongenial.'

'_C'est selon_,' said Lady Maulevrier. 'One would not despise a Chatham
or a Wellington because of the newness of his title; but a man who has
only money to recommend him----'

Lady Maulevrier left her sentence unfin