as
more occupied by the thought of her than by any other thought.

"Girls never think of being able to stay," he said, "you do only what
can be done with a rush; but that's not running. If you had ever seen
the School Mile----"

"Oh no, I want to see no miles," cried Bice; "this is what I like, to
have all my fingers tingle." Then she suddenly calmed down in a moment,
and walked along demurely as the paths widened out to a more frequented
thoroughfare. "What I want," she said, "is little Tom upon my shoulder,
and to hear him scream and hold by my hair. Milady does not look as if I
pleased her now. She has come once only and looked--not as she once
looked. But she is still kind. She has made this ball for me--for me
only. Did you know? do you dance then, if nothing else? Oh, you shall
dance since the ball is for me. I love dancing--to distraction; but not
once have I had a single turn, not once, since we came to England," Bice
said with a sigh, which rose into a laugh in another moment, as she
added, "It will be for me to come out, as you say, to be introduced into
society, and after that we shall go everywhere, the Contessa says."

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE SIEGE OF LONDON.

The Contessa, but perhaps not more than half, believed what she said.
Everything was on the cards in this capricious society of England, which
is not governed by the same absolute laws as in other places. It seemed
to be quite possible that she and her charge might be asked everywhere
after their appearance at the ball which, she should take care to tell
everybody, Lucy was giving for Bice. It was always possible in England
that some leader of fashion, some great lady whose nod gave distinction,
might take pity upon Bice's youth and think it hard that she should
suffer, even if without any relentings towards the Contessa. And Madame
di Forno-Populo was very strong on the point, already mentioned, that
there was nothing against her which could give any one a right to shut
her out. The mere suggestion that the doors of society might or could be
closed in her face would have driven another woman into frantic
indignation, but the Contessa had passed that stage. She took the matter
quite reasonably, philosophically. There was no reason. She had been
poor and put to many shifts. Sometimes she had been compelled to permit
herself to be indebted to a man in a way no woman should allow herself
to be. She was quite aware of this, and was not, therefore,