“No, no!” he said, still in the same low tone.  “You promised me a friend.  Where is she?”

She made no answer.  Her hands were hanging loosely over the water, and her eyes were fixed on the haze opposite, whence emerged the blocks of the great hospital and the twinkling points of innumerable lamps.  But his gaze compelled her at last, and she turned back to him.  He saw an expression half hostile, half moved, and pressed on before she could speak.

“Why do you bury yourself in that nursing life?” he said drily.  “It is not the life for you; it does not fit you in the least.”

“You test your friends!” she cried, her cheek flaming again at the provocative change of voice.  “What possible right have you to that remark?”

“I know you, and I know the causes you want to serve.  You can’t serve them where you are.  Nursing is not for you; you are wanted among your own class—­among your equals—­among the people who are changing and shaping England.  It is absurd.  You are masquerading.”

She gave him a little sarcastic nod.

“Thank you.  I am doing a little honest work for the first time in my life.”

He laughed.  It was impossible to tell whether he was serious or posing.

“You are just what you were in one respect—­terribly in the right!  Be a little humble to-night for a change.  Come, condescend to the classes!  Do you see Mr. Lane calling us?”

And, in fact, Mr. Lane, with his arm in the air, was eagerly beckoning to them from the distance.

“Do you know Lady Selina Farrell?” he asked her, as they walked quickly back to the dispersing crowd.

“No; who is she?”

Wharton laughed.

“Providence should contrive to let Lady Selina overhear that question once a week—­in your tone!  Well, she is a personage—­Lord Alresford’s daughter—­unmarried, rich, has a salon, or thinks she has—­manipulates a great many people’s fortunes and lives, or thinks she does, which, after all, is what matters—­to Lady Selina.  She wants to know you, badly.  Do you think you can be kind to her?  There she is—­you will let me introduce you?  She dines with us.”

In another moment Marcella had been introduced to a tall, fair lady in a very fashionable black and pink bonnet, who held out a gracious hand.

“I have heard so much of you!” said Lady Selina, as they walked along the passage to the dining-room together.  “It must be so wonderful, your nursing!”

Marcella laughed rather restively.

“No, I don’t think it is,” she said; “there are so many of us.”

“Oh, but the things you do—­Mr. Wharton told me—­so interesting!”

Marcella said nothing, and as to her looks the passage was dark.  Lady Selina thought her a very handsome but very gauche young woman.  Still, gauche or no, she had thrown over Aldous Raeburn and thirty thousand a year; an act which, as Lady Selina admitted, put you out of the common run.