t soul she was furious. The "common
farmer's daughter" was neither vulgar nor uneducated--and she was
surpassingly lovely--even Lady Winsleigh could not deny so plain and
absolute a fact. But her ladyship was a woman of the world, and she
perceived at once that Thelma was not. Philip had married a creature
with the bodily loveliness of a goddess and the innocent soul of a
child--and it was just that child-like, pure soul looking serenely out
of Thelma's eyes that had brought the long-forgotten blush of shame to
Clara Winsleigh's cheek. But that feeling of self-contempt soon
passed--she was no better and no worse than other women of her set, she
thought--after all, what had she to be ashamed of? Nothing,
except--except--perhaps, her "little affair" with "Lennie." A new
emotion now stirred her blood--one of malice and hatred, mingled with a
sense of outraged love and ungratified passion--for she still admired
Philip to a foolish excess. Her dark eyes flashed scornfully as she
noted the attitude of Sir Francis Lennox,--he was leaning against the
marble mantel-piece, stroking his moustache with one hand, absorbed in
watching Thelma, who, seated in an easy chair which Beau Lovelace had
found for her, was talking and laughing gaily with those immediately
around her, a group which increased in size every moment, and in which
the men were most predominant.

"Fool!" muttered Lady Winsleigh to herself, apostrophizing "Lennie" in
this uncomplimentary manner. "Fool! I wonder if he thinks I care! He may
play hired lacquey to all the women in London if he likes! He looks a
prig compared to Philip!"

And her gaze wandered,--Philip was standing by his wife, engaged in an
animated conversation with Lord Winsleigh. They were all near the grand
piano--and Lady Clara, smoothing her vexed brow, swept her ruby velvets
gracefully up to that quarter of the room. Before she could speak, the
celebrated Herr Machtenklinken confronted her with some sternness.

"Your ladyshib vill do me ze kindness to remember," he said, loftily,
"zat I am here to blay! Zere has been no obbortunity--ze biano could not
make itself to be heard in zis fery moch noise. It is bossible your
ladyshib shall require not ze music zis efening? In zat case I shall
take my fery goot leave."

Lady Winsleigh raised her eyes with much superciliousness.

"As you please," she said coolly. "If _you_ are so indifferent to your
advantages--then all I can say is, so am I! You are,