ing asked to meet these people. Would
not all these names, including her own, be blazoned to the world in
the columns of the next day's _Morning Post_? There was no absolute
danger here, as Lady Glencora knew; and Lady Glencora, who was
tolerant and begrudged nothing to Madame Max except the one thing,
was quite willing to meet the lady at such a grand affair as this.
But the Duke, even should he become ever so childish a child in his
old age, still would have that plain green brougham at his command,
and could go anywhere in that at any hour in the day. And then
Madame Goesler was so manifestly a clever woman. A Duchess of Omnium
might be said to fill,--in the estimation, at any rate, of English
people,--the highest position in the world short of royalty. And the
reader will remember that Lady Glencora intended to be a Duchess of
Omnium herself,--unless some very unexpected event should intrude
itself. She intended also that her little boy, her fair-haired,
curly-pated, bold-faced little boy, should be Earl of Silverbridge
when the sand of the old man should have run itself out. Heavens,
what a blow would it be, should some little wizen-cheeked half-monkey
baby, with black brows, and yellow skin, be brought forward and shown
to her some day as the heir! What a blow to herself;--and what a blow
to all England! "We can't prevent it if he chooses to do it," said
her husband, who had his budget to bring forward that very night, and
who in truth cared more for his budget than he did for his heirship
at that moment. "But we must prevent it," said Lady Glencora. "If I
stick to him by the tail of his coat, I'll prevent it." At the time
when she thus spoke, the dark green brougham had been twice again
brought up at the door in Park Lane.

And the brougham was standing there a third time. It was May now, the
latter end of May, and the park opposite was beautiful with green
things, and the air was soft and balmy, as it will be sometimes even
in May, and the flowers in the balcony were full of perfume, and the
charm of London,--what London can be to the rich,--was at its height.
The Duke was sitting in Madame Goesler's drawing-room, at some
distance from her, for she had retreated. The Duke had a habit
of taking her hand, which she never would permit for above a few
seconds. At such times she would show no anger, but would retreat.

"Marie," said the Duke, "you will go abroad when the summer is over."
As an old man he had taken