The Duchess looked over Julie’s shoulder as she read.

“Schemer,” she said, as she dropped a kiss on the back of Julie’s neck, “I hope you’re satisfied.  The Times doesn’t know what to make of it.”

Julie put down the paper with a glowing cheek.

“They’ll soon know,” she said, quietly.

“Julie, do you believe in him so much?”

“What does it matter what I think?  It is not I who have appointed him.”

“Not so sure,” laughed the Duchess.  “As if he would have had a chance without you.  Whom did he know last November when you took him up?”

Julie moved to and fro, her hands behind her.  The tremor on her lip, the light in her eye showed her sense of triumph.

“What have I done,” she said, laughing, “but push a few stones out of the way of merit?”

“Some of them were heavy,” said the Duchess, making a little face.  “Need I invite Lady Froswick any more?”

Julie threw her arms about her.

“Evelyn, what a darling you’ve been!  Now I’ll never worry you again.”

“Oh, for some people I would do ten times as much!” cried the Duchess.  “But, Julie, I wish I knew why you think so well of this man.  I—­I don’t always hear very nice things about him.”

“I dare say not,” said Julie, flushing.  “It is easy to hate success.”

“No, come, we’re not as mean as that!” cried the Duchess.  “I vow that all the heroes I’ve ever known had a ripping time.  Julie”—­she kissed her friend impulsively—­“Julie, don’t like him too much.  I don’t think he’s good enough.”

“Good enough for what?” said Julie’s bitter voice.  “Make yourself easy about Captain Warkworth, Evelyn; but please understand—­anything is good enough for me.  Don’t let your dear head be troubled about my affairs.  They are never serious, and nothing counts—­except,” she added, recklessly, “that I get a little amusement by the way.”

“Julie,” cried the Duchess, “as if Jacob—­”

Julie frowned and released herself; then she laughed.

“Nothing that one ever says about ordinary mortals applies to Mr. Delafield.  He is, of course, hors concours.”

“Julie!”

“It is you, Evelyn, who make me mechante.  I could be grateful—­and excellent friends with that young man—­in my own way.”

The Duchess sighed, and held her tongue with difficulty.

* * * * *

When the successful hero arrived that night for dinner he found a solitary lady in the drawing-room.

Was this, indeed, Julie Le Breton—­this soft, smiling vision in white?