places in Alfred's character which she shrank
from exploring. He had already dropped one
or two hints that substantially amounted to a
threat of what he might be driven to do if he
found things going badly against him. The
poor old woman was quite unhappy about him
at times, and cast about in her mind for some
means of permanently benefiting him, and
frustrating the "combination" that opposed his
success. She had hitherto found that the most
efficacious temporary panacea for his ills was a
bank-note. Up to a certain point this was a
remedy easy to administer. But then it was
but temporary. Alfred would—metaphorically
—gulp down his bank-note in the morning, and
appear again in the evening gloomy and
misanthropic, as became an unappreciated genius.
Besides the uncertainty attending his début,
there were other circumstances contributing to
embitter him. Mabel was as far removed from
his pursuit as ever, and Clement Charlewood
was dwelling in the same town with her.
Alfred's resentment and desire for vengeance,
on the score of Clement's disparaging mention
of him to Lady Popham, had by no means
cooled. If he had been brilliantly successful—if
he had taken the town by storm, and leaped into
notoriety—he would still have hated Clement
Charlewood, and would have desired to injure
him. But the desire would have been dulled a
little, and put out of sight to await a favourable
opportunity of satisfaction. Now, however, all
the mortification and checks that his vanity and
egotism were suffering, served as fuel to the fire
of his evil passions. In this posture of his
affairs he persuaded Lady Popham to invite
Mabel and her mother to one of her weekly
assemblies. His motive in doing so was by no
means a single-minded desire to pass some
hours in Mabel's presence. His feeling for
her—though he still professed himself "in
love" with her—was by this time very close
on the border-land of hatred. But at least it
was very far removed from indifference. He
wanted to have her within his reach; whether
to avenge himself for her repulse of his proffered
love, or to fall at her feet in a paroxysm of
devotion, was not quite clear even to himself.

Lady Popham's weekly conversazione was
always very crowded. There was wont to be
a large proportion of second-rate lions in her
assemblies, and a sprinkling of third-rate ones
also. But these lesser animals contributed a
liberal share to the evening's entertainment,
lifting up their voices in a way that seemed by
contrast to make the big lions "roar you as
gently as any sucking dove." My lady's eccentric
pursuit of genius, and her not very solid
judgment in art matters, combined to fill her
saloons with a crowd from the ranks of the
unappreciated: a numerous body, it would appear.
But some celebrities, with whom the world had
dealt kindly, were to be found there too.

Mabel and her mother arrived at Lady
Popham's mansion soon after eleven o'clock on the
Thursday evening fixed upon, and found the
spacious rooms brilliantly lighted and filled
with a heterogeneous crowd. As their names
were announced, my lady sprang from her chair
and hurried to the door to meet them. Mrs.
Saxelby had never seen Lady Popham, and
although Mabel had warned her to expect
something eccentric, she almost started with
astonishment at the first sight of their hostess.
The little woman wore a long train of rich blue
satin covered with fine old lace. Jewels
glistened on her withered throat, in her ears, and
on her arms. She had a round patch of rouge
exactly in the centre of each cheek. Her
eyebrows were thickly blackened, her wig dressed
into a luxuriant mass of curls, and on the top
of it she wore a delicate, fragile, dew-besprinkled
wreath of wild flowers and ferns. It was the
airiest, lightest, most graceful thing in the
world, just adapted for a very young and lovely
girl, with whose fresh beauty it would have
harmonised admirably. Nodding and trembling
as it did on Lady Popham's head when she
came forward with quick mincing step and
extravagant gestures, it rather suggested
associations with Bedlam. But Lady Popham could
assume a very winning manner when she chose,
despite her absurdities. And she bestowed so
gracious a welcome on Mrs. Saxelby as to put
that lady at her ease immediately.

"Arthur, give Mrs. Saxelby your arm, and
take her to my sofa in the little drawing-room."

Captain Skidley advanced somewhat timidly.
Bashfulness was not usually his most marked
defect, but he had not forgotten Mabel's
bow. However, on seeing the gentle ladylike
widow, looking very fair and pretty in her
dove-coloured silk dress, his spirits rose again,
and he conducted her to the sofa with much
gallantry. He even remained by her side talking
to her for some time, and as she listened
with seemingly absorbed attention to everything
he said, and looked very sweetly at him
out of her soft blue eyes, the Honourable
Arthur Skidley was afterwards heard to declare
that you might say what you liked about Miss
Bell, or whatever her name was, but that, in
his deliberate judgment, she wasn't a patch,
upon her mother.

Lady Popham drew Mabel's arm through her
own, and made the tour of the rooms with her.

"Are you tired?" she asked at length.
"You are very pale. So good of you to be here.
Come into my little drawing-room; Mrs.
Saxelby is there. I have a special sofa there off
which bores are warned more or less civilly.  I
retain a body-guard of lads for that service.
They find it amusing. The average boyish
intellect is not of a high order, I find."

So chatting, she made her way to the special
sofa, where Mrs. Saxelby was already installed.
As Mabel was about to seat herself, a young
lady pressed forward through the throng and
took her hand. "Dear Miss Earnshaw," she
said; "welcome!" It was Geraldine O'Brien.
The two girls interchanged a few cordial words
in a low voice. "I want to talk to you
comfortably," said Miss O'Brien. " Can't we get
out of this mob for five minutes? There is a