ll her simple kindness and brightness, affected him
only dully as an element of the general confusion, and nothing more.

But the Contessa, for her part, was radiant. She was victorious all
along the line. She had received Lucy's note informing her of the
provision she meant to make for Bice only that afternoon, and her heart
was dancing with the sense of wealth, of money to spend and endless
capability of pleasure. Whatever happened this was secure, and she had
already in the first hour planned new outlays which would make Lucy's
beneficence very little of a permanent advantage. But she said nothing
of it to Bice, who might (who could tell, girls being at all times
capricious) take into her little head that it was no longer necessary to
encourage Montjoie, on whom at present she looked complacently enough as
the probable giver of all that was best in life. This was almost enough
for one day; but the Contessa fully believed in the proverb that there
is nothing that succeeds like success, and had faith in her own
fortunate star for the other events of the evening. And she had been
splendidly successful. She had altogether vanquished the timid spirit of
the Duchess, that model of propriety. Her entry upon the London world
had been triumphant, and she had all but achieved the honours of the
drawing-room. Unless the Lord Chamberlain should interfere, and why
should he interfere? her appearance in the larger world of society would
be as triumphant as in Park Lane. Her beautiful eyes were swimming in
light, the glow of satisfaction and triumph. It fatigued her a little
indeed to play the part of a virtuous chaperon, and stand or sit in one
place all the evening, awaiting her _debutante_ between the dances,
talking with the other virtuous ladies in the same exercise of patience,
and smilingly keeping aloof from all participation at first hand in the
scene which would have helped to amuse her indeed, but interfered with
the fulfilment of her _role_. But she had internal happiness enough to
make up to her for her self-denial. She would order that set of pearls
for Bice and the emerald pendant for herself which had tempted her so
much, to-morrow. And the Duchess was to present her, and probably this
evening Montjoie would propose. Was it possible to expect in this world
a more perfect combination of successes?

Mr. Derwentwater went off somewhat discomfited to make a tour of the
rooms after the remorseless address of Bice. He tri