pity? But Miss Catheron, handsome, smiling, brilliant, came in among
them with eyes that said: "Pity me if you dare!" And upon Sir Victor's
arm there followed the small, graceful figure, the sweet, fair face of
a girl who did not look one day more than sixteen--by all odds the
prettiest girl in the rooms.

Lady Helena--who, when she did that sort of thing, _did_ do it--took
the little wife under her wing at once. People by the score, it
seemed to the bewildered Ethel, were presented, and the stereotyped
compliments of society were poured into her ear. Sir Victor was
congratulated, sincerely by the men, with an under-current of pity and
mockery by the women. Then they were all at dinner--the bride in the
place of honor--running the gauntlet of all those eyes on the alert
for any solecism of good manners.

She went through it all, her cheeks flushing, her eyes kindling with
excitement growing prettier every moment. Her spirits rose--she would
let these peoples and Inez Catheron see, she was their equal in all
things save birth. She talked, she laughed, she took captive half the
male hearts, and when the ladies at length sailed away to the
drawing-room, Lady Helena stooped and kissed her, almost with motherly
pride.

"My dear," she whispered, "let me congratulate you. Nothing could be a
greater success. All the men are in love with you--all the women
jealous. A most excellent beginning indeed!"

She laughed pleasantly, this kindly dowager, and passed on. It was, an
unspeakable relief to her to see her nephew's low-born wife face
society so bravely and well. And better still, Inez had not launched