and see
her dancing with him; and then, if he dared to upbraid her, she would
ask him why he continued his intimacy in Berkeley Square. In her anger
she almost began to think that a quarrel was necessary. Was it not
manifest that he was deceiving her about that woman? The more she
thought of it the more wretched she became; but on that day she said
nothing of it to him. They dined together, the Dean dining with them.
He was perturbed and gloomy, the Dean having assured them that he did
not mean to allow the Popenjoy question to rest. "I stand in no awe of
your brother," the Dean had said to him. This had angered Lord George,
and he had refused to discuss the matter any further.

At nine Lady George went up to dress, and at half-past ten she started
with her father. At that time her husband had left the house and had
said not a word further as to his intention of going to Mrs. Jones'
house. "Do you think he will come?" she said to the Dean.

"Upon my word I don't know. He seems to me to be in an ill-humour with
all the world."

"Don't quarrel with him, papa."

"I do not mean to do so. I never mean to quarrel with anyone, and least
of all with him. But I must do what I conceive to be my duty whether he
likes it or not."

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE KAPPA-KAPPA.

Mrs. Montacute Jones' house in Grosvenor Place was very large and very
gorgeous. On this occasion it was very gorgeous indeed. The party had
grown in dimensions. The new Moldavian dance had become the topic of
general discourse. Everybody wanted to see the Kappa-kappa. Count
Costi, Lord Giblet, young Sir Harry Tripletoe, and, no doubt, Jack De
Baron also, had talked a good deal about it at the clubs. It had been
intended to be a secret, and the ladies, probably, had been more
reticent. Lady Florence Fitzflorence had just mentioned it to her
nineteen specially intimate friends. Madame Gigi, the young wife of the
old Bohemian minister, had spoken of it only to the diplomatic set;
Miss Patmore Green had been as silent as death, except in her own
rather large family, and Lady George had hardly told anybody, except
her father. But, nevertheless, the secret had escaped, and great
efforts had been made to secure invitations. "I can get you to the
Duchess of Albury's in July if you can manage it for me," one young
lady said to Jack De Baron.

"Utterly impossible!" said Jack, to whom the offered bribe was not
especially attractive. "There won't be standing roo