billows of real lace; the chairs embroidered, the tables all buhl and
ormolu, and the sofas felt like little seas. The lady herself, in a
delightful peignoir, sat nestled cozily in a sort of ottoman with arms.
Her finely formed hand, clogged with brilliants, was just conveying
brandy and soda-water to a very handsome mouth when Richard Bassett
entered.

She raised herself superbly, but without leaving her seat, and just
looked at a chair in a way that seemed to say, "I permit you to sit
down;" and that done, she carried the glass to her lips with the same
admirable firmness of hand she showed in driving. Her lofty manner,
coupled with her beautiful but rather haughty features, smacked of
imperial origin. Yet she was the writer to "jorge," and four years ago
a shrimp-girl, running into the sea with legs as brown as a berry.

So swiftly does merit rise in this world which, nevertheless, some
morose folk pretend is a wicked one.

I ought to explain, however, that this haughty reception was partly
caused by a breach of propriety. Vandeleur ought first to have written
to her and asked permission to present Richard Bassett. He had no
business to send the man and the introduction together. This law a
Parliament of Sirens had passed, and the slightest breach of it was a
bitter offense Equilibrium governs the world. These ladies were bound
to be overstrict in something or other, being just a little lax in
certain things where other ladies are strict.

Now Bassett had pondered well what he should say, but he was
disconcerted by her superb presence and demeanor and her large gray
eyes, that rested steadily upon his face.