osed, calmly
prepared for conversation with any one. Indeed, her behaviour since the
hour of general explanation had been so perfectly well-contained, that
Mrs. Melville said to Lady Jocelyn:

'I am only thinking of the damage to her. It will pass over--this fancy.
You can see she is not serious. It is mere spirit of opposition. She
eats and drinks just like other girls. You can see that the fancy has
not taken such very strong hold of her.'

'I can't agree with you,' replied her ladyship. 'I would rather have her
sit and sigh by the hour, and loathe roast beef. That would look nearer
a cure.'

'She has the notions of a silly country girl,' said Mrs. Shorne.

'Exactly,' Lady Jocelyn replied. 'A season in London will give her
balance.'

So the guests were tolerably happy, or at least, with scarce an
exception, open to the influences of champagne and music. Perhaps
Juliana was the wretchedest creature present. She was about to smite
on both cheeks him she loved, as well as the woman she despised and
had been foiled by. Still she had the consolation that Rose, seeing the
vulgar mother, might turn from Evan: a poor distant hope, meagre and
shapeless like herself. Her most anxious thoughts concerned the means
of getting money to lockup Harry's tongue. She could bear to meet the
Countess's wrath, but not Evan's offended look. Hark to that Countess!

'Why do you denominate this a pic-nic, Lady Jocelyn? It is in verity a
fete!'

'I suppose we ought to lie down 'A la Grecque' to come within the term,'
was the reply. 'On the whole, I prefer plain English for such matters.'

'But this is assuredly too sumptuous for a pic-nic, Lady Jocelyn. From
what I can remember, pic-nic implies contribution from all the guests.
It is true I left England a child!'

Mr. George Uplift could not withhold a sharp grimace: The Countess
had throttled the inward monitor that tells us when we are lying, so
grievously had she practised the habit in the service of her family.

'Yes,' said Mrs. Melville, 'I have heard of that fashion, and very
stupid it is.'

'Extremely vulgar,' murmured Miss Carrington.

'Possibly,' Lady Jocelyn observed; 'but good fun. I have been to
pic-nics, in my day. I invariably took cold pie and claret. I clashed
with half-a-dozen, but all the harm we did was to upset the dictum
that there can be too much of a good thing. I know for certain that the
bottles were left empty.'

'And this woman,' thought the Countess,