s to read what I have written, how can I express my
emotion!"

"The press is unanimous in its praise of you," remarks Lord Winsleigh
cordially. "You are quite the lion of the day!"

"Oh quite!" agrees Beau laughing. "And do I not roar 'as sweet as any
nightingale'? But I say, where's the new beauty?"

"I really do not know to whom you allude, Mr. Lovelace," replies Lady
Winsleigh coldly. Lorimer smiles and is silent. Beau looks from one to
the other amusedly.

"Perhaps I've made a mistake," he says, "but the Duke of Roxwell is
responsible. He told me that if I came here to-night I should see one of
the loveliest women living,--Lady Bruce-Errington. He saw her in the
park. I think _this_ gentleman"--indicating Sir Francis Lennox, who
bites his moustache vexedly--"said quite openly at the Club last night
that she _was_ the new beauty,--and that she would be here this
evening."

Lady Winsleigh darts a side glance at her "Lennie" that is far from
pleasant.

"Really it's perfectly absurd!" she says, with a scornful toss of her
head. "We shall have housemaids and bar-girls accepted as 'quite the
rage' next. I do not know Sir Philip's wife in the least,--I hear she
was a common farmer's daughter. I certainly invited her to-night out of
charity and kindness in order that she might get a little accustomed to
society--for, of course, poor creature! entirely ignorant and uneducated
as she is, everything will seem strange to her. But she has not come--"

"SIR PHILIP AND LADY BRUCE-ERRINGTON!" announces Briggs at this
juncture.

There is a sudden hush--a movement of excitement,--and the groups near
the door fall apart staring, and struck momentarily dumb with surprise,
as a tall, radiant figure in dazzling white, with diamonds flashing on a
glittering coil of gold hair, and wondrous sea-blue earnest eyes, passes
through their midst with that royal free step and composed grace of
bearing that might distinguish an Empress of many nations.

"Good heavens! What a magnificent woman!" mutters Beau Lovelace--"Venus
realized!"

Lady Winsleigh turns very pale,--she trembles and can scarcely regain
her usual composure as Sir Philip, with a proud tenderness lighting up
the depths of his hazel eyes, leads this vision of youth and perfect
loveliness up to her, saying simply--

"Lady Winsleigh, allow me to introduce to you--my wife! Thelma, this is
Lady Winsleigh."

There is a strange sensation in Lady Winsleigh's throat as though