Mrs. Duff-Whalley was an excellent manager, and left nothing to chance.  She saw to all the details herself.  Dressed and ready quite half an hour before the time fixed for dinner, she had cast her eagle glance over the dinner-table, and now sailed into the drawing-room to see that the fire was at its best, the chairs comfortably disposed, and everything as it should be.  Certainly no one could have found fault with the comfort of the room this evening.  A huge fire blazed in the most approved style of grate, the electric light (in the latest fittings) also blazed, lighting up the handsome oil-paintings that adorned the walls, the many photographs, the china in the cabinets, the tables with their silver treasures.  Everywhere stood vases of heavy-scented hothouse flowers.  Mrs. Duff-Whalley approved of hothouse flowers; she said they gave a tone to a room.

The whole room glittered, and its mistress glittered with it as she moved about in a dress largely composed of sequins, a diamond necklace, and a startling ornament in her hair.

She turned as the door opened and her daughter came into the room, and looked her carefully up and down.  She was a pretty girl dressed in the extreme of fashion, and under each arm she carried a tiny barking dog.

Muriel was a good daughter to her mother, and an exemplary character in every way, but the odd thing was that few people liked her.  This was the more tragic as it was the desire of her heart to be popular.  Her appearance was attractive, and strangers usually began acquaintance with enthusiasm, but the attraction rarely survived the first hour’s talk.  She was like a very well-coloured and delightful-looking apple that is without flavour.  She was never natural—­always aping someone.  Her enthusiasms did not ring true, her interest was obviously feigned, and she had that most destroying of social faults, she could not listen with patience, but let her attention wander to the conversation of her neighbours.  It seemed as if she could never talk at peace with anyone for fear of missing something more interesting in another quarter.

“You look very nice, Muriel!  I’m glad I told you to put on that dress, and that new way of doing your hair is very becoming.”  One lovable thing about Mrs. Duff-Whalley was the way she sincerely and openly admired everything that was hers.  “Now, see and do your best to make the evening go.  Mr. Elliot takes a lot of amusing, and the Jowetts aren’t very lively either.”

“Is that all that’s coming?” Muriel asked.

“I asked the new Episcopalian parson—­what’s his name?—­yes—­Jackson—­to fill up.”

“You don’t often descend to the clergy, mother.”