This soliloquy may be taken to prove that Horace Smithson knew Lesbia Haselden better than she knew herself.  She had refused him in all good faith; but even to-day, after he had left her, she fell into a day-dream in which Mr. Smithson’s houses and yachts, drags and hunters, formed the shifting pictures in a dissolving view of society; and Lesbia wondered if there were any other young woman in London who would refuse such an offer as that which she had quietly rejected half-an-hour ago.

Lady Kirkbank surprised her while she was still absorbed in this dreamy review of the position.  It is just possible that the fair Georgie may have had notice of Mr. Smithson’s morning visit, and may have kept out of the way on purpose, for she was not a person of lazy habits, and was generally ready for her nine o’clock breakfast and her morning stroll in the park, however late she might have been out overnight.

‘Mr. Smithson has been here, I understand,’ said Lady Kirkbank, settling herself in an arm-chair by the open window, after she had kissed her protegee.  ‘Rilboche passed him on the stairs.’

‘Rilboche is always passing people on the stairs,’ answered Lesbia rather pettishly.  ’I think she must spend her life on the landing, listening for arrivals and departures.’

’I had a kind of vague idea that Smithson would call to-day.  He was so fussy about those tickets for the Metzikoff recital.  I hate pianoforte recitals, and I detest that starched old duchess, but I suppose I shall have to take you there—­or poor Smithson will be miserable,’ said Lady Kirkbank, watching Lesbia keenly over the top of the newspaper.

She expected Lesbia to confide in her, to announce herself blushingly as the betrothed of one of the richest commoners in England.  But Lesbia sat gazing dreamily across the flowers in the balcony at the house over the way, and said never a word; so Lady Kirkbank’s curiosity burst into speech.

’Well, my dear, has he proposed?  There was something in his manner last night when he put on your wraps that made me think the crisis was near.’

’The crisis is come and is past, and Mr. Smithson and I are just as good friends as ever.’

‘What!’ screamed Lady Kirkbank.  ’Do you mean to tell me that you have refused him?’

’Certainly.  You know I never meant to do anything else.  Did you think I was like Miss Trinder, bent upon marrying town and country houses, stables and diamonds?’

‘I did not think you were a fool,’ cried Lady Kirkbank, almost beside herself with vexation, for it had been borne in upon her, as the Methodists sometimes say, that if Mr. Smithson should prosper in his wooing it would be better for her, Lady Kirkbank, who would have a claim upon his kindness ever after.  ’What can be your motive in refusing one of the very best matches of the season—­or of ever so many seasons?  You think, perhaps, you will marry a duke, if you wait long enough for his Grace to appear:  but the number of marrying dukes is rather small, Lady Lesbia, and I don’t think any of those would care to marry Lord Maulevrier’s granddaughter.’