"That is as you will," he said, with secret satisfaction.

"Why not?" she declared. "I never had a son, but I'm foolish enough to
care for you quite as much as I could for any child of my own. Go and
get ready. We dine at seven.--No! come back."

She placed her long, clawlike fingers upon his shoulders, and kissed
him on both cheeks. She held him tightly by the arms, as though there
was something else she would have said--her lips a little parted, her
eyes brilliant.

"Go and get ready," she said abruptly. "Look your prettiest. You have
a chance to make friends to-night."

CHAPTER XI

A BUSY EVENING

The conversazione was, in its way, a brilliant gathering. There were
present scientists, men of letters, artists, with a very fair
sprinkling of society people, always anxious to absorb any new
sensation. One saw there amongst the white-haired men, passing
backwards and forwards, or talking together in little knots,
professors whose names were famous throughout Europe.

A very great man indeed brought Saton up to Pauline with a little word
of explanation.

"I am sure," he said to her--she was one of his oldest friends--"that
you will be glad to meet the gentleman whose brilliant paper has
interested us all so much. This is Lady Marrabel, Saton, whose father
was professor at Oxford before your day."

The great man passed on. Pauline's first impulse had been to hold out
her hand, but she had immediately withdrawn it. Saton contented
himself with a grave bow.

"I am afraid, Lady Marrabel," he said, "that you are prejudiced
against me."

"I think not," she answered. "Naturally, seeing you so suddenly
brought into my mind the terrible occurrence of only a few days ago."

"An occurrence," he declared, "which no one could regret so greatly
as myself. But apart from that, Lady Marrabel, I am afraid that you
are not prepared to do me justice. You look at me through Rochester's
eyes, and I am quite sure that all his days Rochester will believe
that I am more or less of a charlatan."

"Your paper was very wonderful, Mr. Saton," she said slowly. "I am
convinced that Mr. Rochester would have admitted that himself if he
had been here."

"He might," Saton said. "He might have admitted that much, with a
supercilious smile and a little shrug of the shoulders. Rochester is a
clever man, I believe, but he is absolutely insular. There is a belt
of prejudice around him, to the hardening of which centuries have come