am doubly bound. And this child shall be my maid; she will be a rare
contrast to me, I being chestnut and she so foreign looking. It would
be indiscreet if I were to dance with a gentleman--you know what the
gossips are--but if I am partnered by an attendant maid 'twill be very
different."

"Ma'am ..." from the scandalised Mrs. Lear, "if you are set on having
a village girl ... there are many from good homes, respectable girls.
Not that I've anything to say against this poor child, God knows, but
her mother, ma'am.... I assure you 'tis impossible."

Miss Le Pettit, who guessed very well the sort of tale Mrs. Lear's
delicacy spared her, laughed the matter off.

"It shall be as I say, Mrs. Lear, I can afford to be above these things.
You shall dance with me, Loveday. You must have a white frock, of
course, but I suppose you have a Sunday frock? Quite a simple thing,
the simpler the better, and a white sash of satin riband. Don't forget.
I shall expect to see you waiting for me at the Flora."

And Miss Le Pettit rose, having carried her freak of sensibility on long
enough, and sweeping past Loveday with a dazzling smile, was accompanied
to the front door by Mrs. Lear, and after standing poised for a moment
against the sunny verdure beyond, took wing with a flutter of white
taffetas and was gone.

Loveday was left with that most dangerous of all passions--the passion
for an idea. Though she was ignorant of the fact, it was not Miss Le
Pettit she adored, it was beauty; not silk underskirts that rustled
in her ear, but the music of the spheres; a new ideal she saw not in