t was Lady Peterborough's
special endeavour to state without a boast facts which were
indifferent, but which must be stated.

"It is very magnificent," said Nora. There was in her voice the
slightest touch of sarcasm, which she would have given the world not
to have uttered; but it had been irrepressible.

Lady Peterborough understood it instantly, and forgave it, not
attributing to it more than its true meaning, acknowledging to
herself that it was natural. "Dear Nora," she said,--not knowing what
to say, blushing as she spoke,--"the magnificence is nothing; but the
man's love is everything."

Nora shook herself, and determined that she would behave well. The
effort should be made, and the required result should be produced by
it. "The magnificence, as an adjunct, is a great deal," she said;
"and for his sake, I hope that you enjoy it."

"Of course I enjoy it."

"Wallachia's teachings and preachings have all been thrown to the
wind, I hope."

"Not quite all. Poor dear Wally! I got a letter from her the
other day, which she began by saying that she would attune her
correspondence to my changed condition in life. I understood the
reproach so thoroughly! And, when she told me little details of
individual men and women, and of things she had seen, and said not a
word about the rights of women, or even of politics generally, I felt
that I was a degraded creature in her sight. But, though you laugh at
her, she did me good,--and will do good to others. Here we are inside
Monkhams, and now you must look at the avenue."

Nora was now rather proud of herself. She had made the effort, and
it had been successful; and she felt that she could speak naturally,
and express her thoughts honestly. "I remember his telling me about
the avenue the first time I ever saw him;--and here it is. I did not
think then that I should ever live to see the glories of Monkhams.
Does it go all the way like this to the house?"

"Not quite;--where you see the light at the end the road turns to the
right, and the house is just before you. There are great iron gates,
and terraces, and wondrous paraphernalia before you get up to the
door. I can tell you Monkhams is quite a wonder. I have to shut
myself up every Wednesday morning, and hand the house over to Mrs.
Crutch, the housekeeper, who comes out in a miraculous brown silk
gown, to shew it to visitors. On other days, you'll find Mrs. Crutch
quite civil and useful;--but on Wednesdays, she is ma