uld
ever disturb her self-complacency. And the fact in itself still seemed
harmless enough; only it was a fertile source of harmful complications.
As she exhausted the amusement of spending the money these complications
became more pressing, and Lily, whose mind could be severely logical in
tracing the causes of her ill-luck to others, justified herself by the
thought that she owed all her troubles to the enmity of Bertha Dorset.
This enmity, however, had apparently expired in a renewal of friendliness
between the two women. Lily's visit to the Dorsets had resulted, for
both, in the discovery that they could be of use to each other; and the
civilized instinct finds a subtler pleasure in making use of its
antagonist than in confounding him. Mrs. Dorset was, in fact, engaged in
a new sentimental experiment, of which Mrs. Fisher's late property, Ned
Silverton, was the rosy victim; and at such moments, as Judy Trenor had
once remarked, she felt a peculiar need of distracting her husband's
attention. Dorset was as difficult to amuse as a savage; but even his
self-engrossment was not proof against Lily's arts, or rather these were
especially adapted to soothe an uneasy egoism. Her experience with Percy
Gryce stood her in good stead in ministering to Dorset's humours, and if
the incentive to please was less urgent, the difficulties of her
situation were teaching her to make much of minor opportunities.

Intimacy with the Dorsets was not likely to lessen such difficulties on
the material side. Mrs. Dorset had none of Judy Trenor's lavish impulses,
and Dorset's admiration was not likely to express itself in financial
"tips," even had Lily cared to renew her experiences in that line. What
she required, for the moment, of the Dorsets' friendship, was simply its
social sanction. She knew that people were beginning to talk of her; but
this fact did not alarm her as it had alarmed Mrs. Peniston. In her set
such gossip was not unusual, and a handsome girl who flirted with a
married man was merely assumed to be pressing to the limit of her
opportunities. It was Trenor himself who frightened her. Their walk in
the Park had not been a success. Trenor had married young, and since his
marriage his intercourse with women had not taken the form of the
sentimental small-talk which doubles upon itself like the paths in a
maze. He was first puzzled and then irritated to find himself always led
back to the same starting-point, and Lily felt th