sister used to have, and which he had so strenuously objected to--the
slangy, devil-may-care tone, the total absence of which in the old
days had made his little sweetheart so conspicuously different from
her environment. She wore now the impress of evil, from her Regent
Street hat to her Paris gown. Manifestly she had risen in her
vocation, but he knew that her salary alone had never supplied the
costume or the rings, and his heart ached.

That night he sat at the Duchess of Huddersfield's table facing his
_fiancée_, and for the first time he wondered if sang-froid or
perfect equanimity were all that a man such as himself might desire.
She was, as Bella had put it, "One of his own class--a lady," which
she had never been, poor Bella! but he did wonder just a little how
much of real heart beat under the dainty laces that shrouded Lady
Ethel's bosom. He had reflected once and not so long ago that that
portion of a woman's anatomy was superfluous, but he wavered in his
belief now. He could stake his professional honour, his hopes of
eternity--of--everything--on the absolute purity of this girl;
nothing would ever tempt Lady Ethel to swerve ever so little from the
path of rectitude and decorum. The cold, proud patrician face spoke
for itself, and yet--he was in a brown study when the voice of his
prospective mother-in-law brought him out of the clouds.

"And now," she said in a significant tone and with a glance full of
meaning, "now I suppose you young people have lots to talk about, and
will forgive me if I run away."

And the silken draperies swept themselves across the floor and the
door closed softly upon her Grace.