ible to the genus boy as heaven was above earth. It would
have been a profanation, a sacrilege too dreadful to be thought of, to
compare that ethereal creature with the other things of her age with
which he was so familiar. Of her age! Her age was the age of romance, of
love, of poetry, of all ineffable things.

"I say, Countess," said Montjoie, "I hope you're not forgetting. This is
the night, don't you know. And here we are all ready for dinner and
nothing has happened. When is it coming? You are so awfully mysterious;
it ain't fair upon a fellow."

"Is every one in the room?" said the Contessa, with an indulgent smile
at the young man's eagerness. They all looked round, for everybody was
curious. And all were there--the lady who wrote for the Press, and the
lady with the two daughters, the girls in blue; and Sir Tom's
parliamentary friends standing up against the mantelpiece, and Mr.
Derwentwater by himself, more curious than any one, keeping one eye on
Montjoie, as if he would have liked to send him to the pupil-room to do
a _poena_; and Jock indifferent, with his back to the door. All the rest
were expectant except Jock, who took no notice. The Contessa's special
friends were about her chair, rubbing their hands, and ready to back the
Forno-Populo for a new sensation. The Contessa looked round, her eye
dwelling for a moment upon Lucy, who looked a little fluttered and
uncomfortable, and upon Sir Tom, who evidently knew nothing, and was
looking on with a smile.

"Now you shall see," she said, "why I abdicate," and made a sign,
clapping softly her beautiful hands.

There was a momentary pause. Montjoie, who was standing out in the clear
space in the centre of the room, turned round at the Contessa's call. He
turned towards the open door, which was less lighted than the inner
room. It was he who saw first what was coming. "Oh, by Jove!" the young
Marquis said.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE DEBUT.

The door was open. The long drawing-room afforded a sort of processional
path for the newcomer. Her dress was not white like that of the ordinary
_debutante_. It had a yellow golden glow of colour, warm yet soft. She
walked not with the confused air of a novice perceiving herself
observed, but with a slow and serene gait like a young queen. She was
not alarmed by the consciousness that everybody was looking at her. Not
to have been looked at would have been more likely to embarrass Bice.
Her beautiful throat and shoul