‘Ah!  I know; Lord Kilcarney is engaged to Violet Scully.’

The situation was almost saved, and would have been had Olive not been present.  She glanced at her mother in astonishment; and Gladys, fearing utter defeat, hurled her dart recklessly.

‘Yes,’ she exclaimed, ‘and their marriage is fixed for this autumn.’

’I don’t believe a word of it. . . .  You only say so because you think it will annoy me.’

’My dear Olive, how can it annoy you?  You know very well you refused him,’ said Mrs. Barton, risking the danger of contradiction.  ’Gladys is only telling us the news.’

’News, indeed; a pack of lies.  I know her well; and all because—­because she didn’t succeed in hooking the man she was after in the Shelbourne last year.  I’m not going to listen to her lies, if you are;’ and on these words Olive flaunted passionately out of the room.

‘So very sorry, really,’ exclaimed Zoe.  ’We really didn’t know . . . indeed we didn’t.  We couldn’t have known that—­that there was any reason why dear Olive wouldn’t like to hear that Lord Kilcarney was engaged to Violet.’

’Not at all, not at all.  I assure you that whatever question there may once have been, I give you my word, was broken off a long time ago; they did not suit each other at all,’ said Mrs. Barton.  Now that she was relieved of the presence of her young, the mother fought admirably.  But in a few minutes the enemy was reinforced by the arrival of the Hon. Miss Gores.

‘Oh, how do you do?  I am so glad to see you,’ said Mrs. Barton, the moment they entered the room.  ’Have you heard the news? all is definitely settled between the little Marquis and Violet.  We were all talking of it; I am so glad for her sake.  Of course it is very grand to be a marchioness, but I’m afraid she’ll find her coronet a poor substitute for her dinner.  You know what a state the property is in.  She has married a beggar.  The great thing after all, nowadays, is money.’

It would have been better perhaps not to have spoken of Lord Kilcarney’s mortgages, but the Marquis’s money embarrassments were the weak point in Violet’s marriage, but it would not be natural (supposing that Olive had herself refused Lord Kilcarney) for her not to speak of them.  So she prattled on gaily for nearly an hour, playing her part admirably, extricating herself from a difficult position and casting some doubt—­only a little, it is true, but a little was a gain on the story that Olive had been rejected.

As soon as her visitors left the room, and she went to the window to watch the carriages drive away and to consider how she might console her daughter—­persuade her, perhaps, that everything had happened for the best.

‘Oh, mamma,’ she said, rushing into the room, ’this is terrible; what shall we do—­what shall we do?’

‘What’s terrible, my beautiful darling?’

Olive looked through her languor and tears, and she answered petulantly: