ed hall. Marcella too felt pleasure in the reflections
of herself as they passed up the lavishly bemirrored staircase. The
chatter about dress in which she had been living for some days had
amused and distracted her; for there were great feminine potentialities
in her; though for eighteen months she had scarcely given what she wore
a thought, and in her pre-nursing days had been wont to waver between a
kind of proud neglect, which implied the secret consciousness of beauty,
and an occasional passionate desire to look well. So that she played her
part to-night very fairly; pinched Betty's arm to silence the elf's
tongue; and held herself up as she was told, that Betty's handiwork
might look its best. But inwardly the girl's mood was very tired and
flat. She was pining for her work; pining even for Minta Hurd's peevish
look, and the children to whom she was so easily an earthly providence.

In spite of the gradual emptying of London, Lady Masterton's rooms were
very full. Marcella found acquaintances. Many of the people whom she had
met at Mrs. Lane's, the two Cabinet Ministers of the House of Commons
dinner, Mr. Lane himself--all were glad or eager to recall themselves to
her as she stood by Lady Winterbourne, or made her way half absently
through the press. She talked, without shyness--she had never been shy,
and was perhaps nearer now to knowing what it might mean than she had
been as a schoolgirl--but without heart; her black eye wandering
meanwhile, as though in quest. There was a gay sprinkling of uniforms in
the crowd, for the Speaker was holding a _levee_, and as it grew late
his guests began to set towards Lady Masterton. Betty, who had been
turning up her nose at the men she had so far smiled upon, all of whom
she declared were either bald or seventy, was a little propitiated by
the uniforms; otherwise, she pronounced the party very dull.

"Well, upon my word!" she cried suddenly, in a tone that made Marcella
turn upon her. The child was looking very red and very upright--was
using her fan with great vehemence, and Frank Leven was humbly holding
out his hand to her.

"I don't like being startled," said Betty, pettishly. "Yes, you _did_
startle me--you did--you did! And then you begin to contradict before
I've said a word! I'm sure you've been contradicting all the way
upstairs--and why don't you say 'How do you do?' to Miss Boyce?"

Frank, looking very happy, but very nervous, paid his respects rather
bashful