"I am afraid these French convent schools are not at all what they
should be," said Lady Grosville.

And rising to a pyramidal height, her ample moiré dress swelling behind
her, her gray head magnificently crowned by its lace cap and black
velvet _bandeau_, she swept across the room to where the Dean's wife,
Mrs. Winston, sat in fascinated silence observing Lady Kitty. The
silence and the attention annoyed her hostess. The first thing to be
done with girls of this type, it seemed to Lady Grosville, was to prove
to them that they would _not_ be allowed to monopolize society.

* * * * *

There are natural monopolies, however, and they are not easy to deal
with.

As soon as the gentlemen returned, Mr. Rankine, whom she had treated so
badly at dinner, the young agent of the estate, the clergyman of the
parish, the Austrian attaché, the cabinet minister, and the Dean, all
showed a strong inclination to that side of the room which seemed to be
held in force by Lady Kitty. The Dean especially was not to be gainsaid.
He placed himself in the seat shyly vacated by the French governess, and
crossed his thin, stockinged legs with the air of one who means to take
his ease. There was even a certain curious resemblance between him and
Kitty, as was noticed from a distance by Ashe. The Dean, who was very
much a man of the world, and came of an historic family, was, in his
masculine degree, planned on the same miniature scale and with the same
fine finish as the girl of eighteen. And he carried his knee-breeches,
his apron, and his exquisite white head with a natural charm and energy
akin to hers--mellowed though it were by time, and dignified by office.