Frank, looking very happy, but very nervous, paid his respects rather bashfully to Marcella—­she laughed to see how Betty’s presence subdued him—­and then gave himself up wholly to Betty’s tender mercies.

Marcella observed them with an eager interest she could not wholly explain to herself.  It was clear that all thought of anything or anybody else had vanished for Frank Leven at the sight of Betty.  Marcella guessed, indeed knew, that they had not met for some little time; and she was touched by the agitation and happiness on the boy’s handsome face.  But Betty? what was the secret of her kittenish, teasing ways—­or was there any secret?  She held her little head very high and chattered very fast—­but it was not the same chatter that she gave to Marcella, nor, so far as Marcella could judge, to Aldous Raeburn.  New elements of character came out in it.  It was self-confident, wilful, imperious.  Frank was never allowed to have an opinion; was laughed at before his words were out of his mouth; was generally heckled, played with, and shaken in a way which seemed alternately to enrage and enchant him.  In the case of most girls, such a manner would have meant encouragement; but, as it was Betty, no one could be sure.  The little thing was a great puzzle to Marcella, who had found unexpected reserves in her.  She might talk of her love affairs to Aldous Raeburn; she had done nothing of the sort with her new friend.  And in such matters Marcella herself was far more reserved than most modern women.

“Betty!” cried Lady Winterbourne, “I am going on into the next room.”

Then in a lower tone she said helplessly to Marcella: 

“Do make her come on!”

Marcella perceived that her old friend was in a fidget.  Stooping her tall head, she said with a smile: 

“But look how she is amusing herself!”

“My dear!—­that’s just it!  If you only knew how her mother—­tiresome woman—­has talked to me!  And the young man has behaved so beautifully till now—­has given neither Ermyntrude nor me any trouble.”

Was that why Betty was leading him such a life?  Marcella wondered,—­then suddenly—­was seized with a sick distaste for the whole scene—­for Betty’s love affairs—­for her own interest in them—­for her own self and personality above all.  Her great black eyes gazed straight before them, unseeing, over the crowd, the diamonds, the lights; her whole being gave itself to a quick, blind wrestle with some vague overmastering pain, some despair of life and joy to which she could give no name.

She was roused by Betty’s voice: 

“Mr. Raeburn! will you tell me who people are?  Mr. Leven’s no more use than my fan.  Just imagine—­I asked him who that lady in the tiara is—­and he vows he doesn’t know!  Why, it just seems that when you go to Oxford, you leave the wits you had before, behind!  And then—­of course”—­Betty affected a delicate hesitation—­“there’s the difficulty of being quite sure that you’ll ever get any new ones!—­But there—­look!—­I’m in despair!—­she’s vanished—­and I shall never know!”