rs,--conversation mingled with much dreary yawning,--a
trained opera-singer is shaking forth chromatic roulades and trills in
the great drawing-room above,--there is an incessant stream of people
coming and going,--there is the rustle of silk and satin,--perfume,
shaken out of lace kerchiefs, and bouquets oppresses the warm air,--the
heat is excessive,--and there is a never-ending monotonous hum of
voices, only broken at rare intervals by the "society laugh"--that
unmeaning giggle on the part of the women,--that strained "ha, ha, ha!"
on the part of the men, which is but the faint ghostly echo of the
farewell voice of true mirth.

Presently, out of the ladies' cloak-room come two fascinating
figures--the one plump and matronly, with grey hair and a capacious neck
glittering with diamonds,--the other a slim girl in pale pink, with dark
eyes and a ravishing complexion, for whom the lazy gentlemen on the
stairs make immediate and respectful room.

"How d'ye do, Mrs. Van Clupp?" says one of the loungers.

"Glad to see you, Miss Marcia!" says another, a sandy-haired young man,
with a large gardenia in his button-hole, and a glass in his eye.

At the sound of his voice Miss Marcia stops and regards him with a
surprised smile. She is very pretty, is Marcia,--bewitchingly
pretty,--and she has an air of demure grace and modesty about her that
is perfectly charming. Why? oh, why does she not remain in that
sylph-like, attitude of questioning silence? But she speaks--and the
charm is broken.

"Waal now! Dew tell!" she exclaims. "I thought yew were in Pa-ar--is!
Ma, would yew have concluded to find Lord Algy here? This is _too_
lovely! If I'd known _yew_ were coming I'd have stopped at home--yes, I
would--that's so!"

And she nods her little head, crowned with its glossy braids of chestnut
hair, in a very coquettish manner, while her mother, persistently
beaming a stereotyped company smile on all around her, begins to ascend
the stairs, beckoning her daughter to follow. Marcia does so, and Lord
Algernon Masherville escorts her.

"You--you didn't mean that!" he stammers rather feebly--"You--you don't
mind my being here, do you? I'm--I'm _awfully_ glad to see you again,
you know--and--er--all that sort of thing!"

Marcia darts a keen glance at him,--the glance of an observant,
clear-headed magpie.

"Oh yes! I dare say!" she remarks with airy scorn. "S'pect _me_ to
believe _yew_! Waal! Did yew have a good time in Pa-ar--is?