ed a
detachment to take possession of the height. Courtly Sir John Loring
ran up at once, and gave the diplomatist an opportunity to thank her
flatteringly for gaining them two minutes to themselves. Sir John
waved his handkerchief in triumph, welcoming them under an awning where
carpets and cushions were spread, and whence the Countess could eye the
field. She was dressed ravishingly; slightly in a foreign style, the
bodice being peaked at the waist, as was then the Portuguese persuasion.
The neck, too, was deliciously veiled with fine lace--and thoroughly
veiled, for it was a feature the Countess did not care to expose to the
vulgar daylight. Off her gentle shoulders, as it were some fringe of
cloud blown by the breeze this sweet lady opened her bosom to, curled
a lovely black lace scarf: not Caroline's. If she laughed, the tinge
of mourning lent her laughter new charms. If she sighed, the exuberant
array of her apparel bade the spectator be of good cheer. Was she
witty, men surrendered reason and adored her. Only when she entered the
majestic mood, and assumed the languors of greatness, and recited musky
anecdotes of her intimacy with it, only then did mankind, as represented
at Beckley Court, open an internal eye and reflect that it was wonderful
in a tailor's daughter. And she felt that mankind did so reflect. Her
instincts did not deceive her. She knew not how much was known; in the
depths of her heart she kept low the fear that possibly all might be
known; and succeeding in this, she said to herself that probably nothing
was known after all. George Uplift, Miss Carrington, and Rose, were the
three she abhorred. Partly to be out of their way, and to be out of
the way of chance shots (for she had heard names of people coming that
reminded her of Dubbins's, where, in past days, there had been on one
awful occasion a terrific discovery made), the Countess selected Olympus
for her station. It was her last day, and she determined to be happy.
Doubtless, she was making a retreat, but have not illustrious Generals
snatched victory from their pursuers? Fair, then, sweet, and full of
grace, the Countess moved. As the restless shifting of colours to her
motions was the constant interchange of her semisorrowful manner
and ready archness. Sir John almost capered to please her, and the
diplomatist in talking to her forgot his diplomacy and the craft of his
tongue.

It was the last day also of Caroline and the Duke. The Countes