designed,
antimacassars everywhere, chimney ornaments of cut glass trembling in
sympathy with the kindred chandeliers. She belonged to an obscure
branch of a house that culminated in an obscure baronetcy; penniless
and ambitious, she had to thank her imposing physique for rescue at a
perilous age, and though despising Mr. Luke Widdowson for his plebeian
tastes, she shrewdly retained the good-will of a husband who seemed no
candidate for length of years. The money-maker died much sooner than
she could reasonably have hoped, and left her an income of four
thousand pounds. Thereupon began for Mrs. Luke a life of feverish
aspiration. The baronetcy to which she was akin had inspired her, even
from childhood, with an aristocratic ideal; a handsome widow of only
eight-and-thirty, she resolved that her wealth should pave the way for
her to a titled alliance. Her acquaintance lay among City people, but
with the opportunities of freedom it was soon extended to the sphere of
what is known as smart society; her flat in Victoria Street attracted a
heterogeneous cluster of pleasure-seekers and fortune-hunters, among
them one or two vagrant members of the younger aristocracy. She lived
at the utmost pace compatible with technical virtue. When, as shortly
happened, it became evident that her income was not large enough for
her serious purpose, she took counsel with an old friend great in
finance, and thenceforth the excitement of the gambler gave a new zest
to her turbid existence. Like most of her female associates, she had
free recourse to the bottle; but for such stimulus the life of a smart
woman would be physically impossible. And Mrs. Luke enjoyed life,
enjoyed it vastly. The goal of her ambition, if all went well in the
City, was quite within reasonable hope. She foretasted the day when a
vulgar prefix would no longer attach to her name, and when the journals
of society would reflect her rising effulgence.

Widdowson was growing impatient, when his relative at length appeared.
She threw herself into a deep chair, crossed her legs, and gazed at him
mockingly.

'Well, it isn't quite so bad as I feared, Edmund.'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, she's a decent enough little girl, I can see. But you're a silly
fellow for all that. You couldn't have deceived me, you know. If
there'd been anything--you understand?--I should have spotted it at
once.'

'I don't relish this kind of talk,' observed Widdowson acidly. 'In
plain English, yo