That excuse, however, would not serve Mrs. Forest this year.  She had taken a house in town, and there was no other course open to her than to launch her brother’s child into society, however sorely against her will.  Her main anxiety had fortunately by that time ceased to exist.  There was no likelihood of Chris, with her brilliant, vivacious ways, outshining her own daughter.  For Hilda was engaged to Lord Percy Davenant, who plainly had eyes and thoughts for none other, and the marriage was to be one of the events of the season.

Chris was therefore accorded her chance upon the tacit understanding that she was to make the most of it, since Mrs. Forest still maintained her attitude of irresponsibility where her brother’s children were concerned, although the said brother had drifted to Australia and died there, no one quite knew how, leaving next to nothing behind him.

His sons and Chris had been brought up upon their mother’s fortune, a sum which had been set aside for their education by their father at her death, after which, beyond providing them with a home—­the ramshackle inheritance that had come to him from his father—­he had made little further provision for them.  His eldest son, Rupert, was a subaltern in a line regiment.  No one knew whether he lived on his pay or not, and no one inquired.  The second son, who possessed undeniable brilliance, had earned a scholarship, and was studying medicine.  And Noel, now aged sixteen, was still at school, distinguishing himself at sports and consistently neglecting all things that did not pertain thereto.

Undoubtedly they were a reckless and improvident family, as Mrs. Forest so often declared; but perhaps, all things considered, they had never had much opportunity of developing any other qualities, though it was certainly hard that she should be regarded as in any degree responsible for them.  She and her brother had always been as far asunder as the poles in disposition, and neither had ever felt or so much as professed to feel the faintest affection for the other.

It vexed her that Jack and Hilda should take so lively an interest in Chris, who was bound to turn out badly.  Had she not already shown herself to be incorrigibly flighty?  But since it vexed her still more that anyone should regard her actions as blameworthy, she had yielded to their persuasions.  And thus Chris had been given her chance.

She was thoroughly appreciating it.  Everyone was being kind to her, and it was all extremely pleasant.  She was looking forward keenly to the coming that morning of Trevor Mordaunt, who had been regarded as a privileged friend ever since he had smuggled Cinders back into England three years before, secreted in an immense pocket in the lining of a great motor-coat.  Not that she had seen very much of him since that memorable occasion.  In fact, until the present summer they had scarcely met again.  He was a celebrated man in the literary world, and he travelled far and wide.  He was also immensely wealthy.  Men said of him that whatever he touched turned to gold.  And fame, wealth, and a certain unobtrusive strength of personality had combined to make him popular wherever he went.