Lily was quite scared by the sudden pounce
which her mother had made upon her, and her
agitation was now further increased by the
mention of Edgar's name. He was in the next
room, and Sir William Long was there also! If
she had had time to reflect, she would
probably have given way to her emotions, as she
had done before; but in sheer desperation she
nerved herself to the ordeal, and followed her
mother into the reception-room.

Mr. M 'Variety was the first to address her.

"Ah, missy, how do you do? Looking pale,
eh? I expected to see you quite rosy, living in
the gardens here, among the trees and the fresh
air."

And the manager shook hands with her. Then
the rest in succession, ending with the sultan,
who grasped her hand warmly, and was quite
gracious. Lily was ready to faint, but she
sustained herself, and sat down on an ottoman by
the window, the sultan taking a chair near her,
with his face towards her.

While the countess was rallying her visitors
and inviting them to partake of some wine,
which she assured them, in a significant manner,
was not of the vintage of South Lambeth, the
Sultan Greyfaunt condescended to open a
conversation with the "little party." He spoke
slightly in an under tone.

"I hope I may look upon you as an old
friend, mademoiselle," he said, with a smile.

Poor Lily's heart was in her mouth. She
knew not what to reply. It was not so much
Edgar's words that agitated her (for they were
cold and formal enough) as his look and his
smile. In Paris his behaviour to her had always
been haughty and cold. Now he was gracious,
and something more. Lily would have found
it difficult to define that something more which
his manner implied; but she felt it, and the
colour mantled to her pale cheeks.

"We were friends in Paris," Edgar pursued,
"and I hope we shall be better friends in
London."

Lily's heart was beating fast, and her face
was becoming crimson. She muttered
something in reply, she knew not what, and then her
glance fell upon Sir William Long. He was
sitting among the countess's visitors, not joining
in their conversation, nor listening to them, nor
taking any heed of them, but gazing pensively
and thoughtfully, with a touch of dejection in
his face, at her—at her and Edgar seated
together in the window.

Suddenly the countess turned round and saw
them.

"Ah, Monsieur Greyfond!" she exclaimed,
"what are you saying to mamselle there in the
corner? Vous êtes un mauvais sujet." And she
shook her finger at him with a ghastly assumption
of reproof. " Come," she said, " sit by me.
I wish to talk to you concerning my benefit."

Edgar moved away from Lily, and sat down
beside the countess.

"Will you not take a box for my benefit?"
she said. " All my friends here have taken
boxes."

"Yes, and paid for them," said Mr. Thomas
Tuttleshell, "like gentlemen." Mr. Thomas
Tuttleshell lost no opportunity of talking at his
serene highness. He was continually shooting
random arrows, in the hope that a stray one
might hit the mark and rankle somewhere.

"Oh yes, certainly," said his highness. " And
the price? how much?"

"How much?" exclaimed the countess, in an
injured tone. " You ask a lady on the occasion
of her benefit, how much?"

Mr. Thomas Tuttleshell chuckled with much
inward satisfaction.

"Oh, well, the fact is," said Greyfaunt, "I
have very little loose cash about me; but—but
I will give you a cheque upon my bankers."
And he wrote a cheque for twenty pounds, and
handed it to the countess with the air of a
millionnaire.

"Vingt livres!" exclaimed the countess.
"Monsieur Greyfond, vous êtes un prince. Give
me your hand."

Mr. Thomas Tuttleshell's satisfaction
subsided a little. Mr. Edgar Greyfaunt had paid
more for his box than any of the others!

"And now, my lord and messieurs," said the
countess, " as you have invited me to dine with
you at Greenwich, I beg you will honour me
with your presence at a petit souper in my
château here after the performance on Friday.
Say, will you do me the honour?"

"Oh, certainly," the visitors said in a breath,
as they rose to take their departure; " we shall
be most happy."

"Bon," said the countess, " we shall have a
snug little party. We shall be gay."

On taking leave, Edgar shook hands with
Lily with the same warmth as before; and he
looked at her with the same smile and expression
which had made her heart throb and her cheeks
flush when he first addressed her.

Sir William Long was the last to go up and
bid her good-by.

"Have you quite forgotten your old Greenwich
acquaintance?" he said.

"Forgotten you!" said Lily, taking his hand.
"I shall ever remember you, ever think of you
—with gratitude."

Sir William drove home that afternoon with
the cold word sticking in his throat, like
something he could not swallow.

"For me gratitude," he muttered to himself,
"and for that brainless, heartless puppy, love!
Oh Lily, Lily!"

CHAPTER LV. THE LAST NIGHT OF THE SEASON.

"RANELAGH! Last night of the winter
season! Benefit of Madame Ernestine, the
world- renowned exponent of the High School of
Horsemanship, who will appear on her trained
steed Constant, and perform an entirely new
act, descriptive of a Buffalo Hunt on the Prairies
of the Far West! Ten thousand extra lamps!
Additional and special attractions for this occasion
only! N.B. Prices as usual."

Thus the advertising columns of the
newspapers; thus the hoardings and the dead walls: