might have been out overnight.

'Mr. Smithson has been here, I understand,' said Lady Kirkbank, settling
herself in an arm-chair by the open window, after she had kissed her
_protegee_. 'Rilboche passed him on the stairs.'

'Rilboche is always passing people on the stairs,' answered Lesbia
rather pettishly. 'I think she must spend her life on the landing,
listening for arrivals and departures.'

'I had a kind of vague idea that Smithson would call to-day. He was so
fussy about those tickets for the Metzikoff recital. I hate pianoforte
recitals, and I detest that starched old duchess, but I suppose I shall
have to take you there--or poor Smithson will be miserable,' said Lady
Kirkbank, watching Lesbia keenly over the top of the newspaper.

She expected Lesbia to confide in her, to announce herself blushingly as
the betrothed of one of the richest commoners in England. But Lesbia sat
gazing dreamily across the flowers in the balcony at the house over the
way, and said never a word; so Lady Kirkbank's curiosity burst into
speech.

'Well, my dear, has he proposed? There was something in his manner last
night when he put on your wraps that made me think the crisis was near.'

'The crisis is come and is past, and Mr. Smithson and I are just as good
friends as ever.'

'What!' screamed Lady Kirkbank. 'Do you mean to tell me that you have
refused him?'

'Certainly. You know I never meant to do anything else. Did you think I
was like Miss Trinder, bent upon marrying town and country houses,
stables and diamonds?'

'I did not think you were a fool,' cried Lady Kirkbank, almost beside
herself with vexation, for it had been borne in upon her, as the
Methodists sometimes say, that if Mr. Smithson should prosper in his
wooing it would be better for her, Lady Kirkbank, who would have a claim
upon his kindness ever after. 'What can be your motive in refusing one
of the very best matches of the season--or of ever so many seasons? You
think, perhaps, you will marry a duke, if you wait long enough for his
Grace to appear: but the number of marrying dukes is rather small, Lady
Lesbia, and I don't think any of those would care to marry Lord
Maulevrier's granddaughter.'

Lesbia started to her feet, pale as ashes.

'Why do you fling my grandfather's name in my face--and with that
diabolical sneer?' she exclaimed. 'When I have asked you about him you
have always evaded my questions. Why should a man of the highest rank
shrink fro