The truants appeared looking conscious.  One of them, when he saw me, looked astonished as well, and I cannot say that I myself was perfectly unmoved when I realised that it was Mr. Mafferton!  There was no reason why Mr. Mafferton should not have been at the top of the Eiffel Tower in the society of Mrs. Portheris, Mr. Dod, and another, that afternoon, but for the moment it seemed to me uniquely amazing.  We shook hands, however—­it was the only thing to do—­and Mr. Mafferton said this was indeed a surprise as if it were the most ordinary thing possible.  Mrs. Portheris looked on at our greeting with an air of objecting to things she had not been taught to expect, and remarked that she had no idea Mr. Mafferton was one of my London acquaintances.  “But then,” she continued in a tone of just reproach, “I saw so little of you during your season in town that you might have made the Queen’s acquaintance and all the Royal Family, and I should have been none the wiser.”

It was too much to expect of one’s momma that she should let an opportunity like that slip, and mine took hold of it with both hands.

“I believe my daughter did make Victoria’s acquaintance, Mrs. Portheris,” said she, “and we were all very pleased about it.  Your Queen has a very good reputation in our country.  We think her a wise sovereign and a perfect lady.  I suppose you often go to her Drawing Rooms.”

Mrs. Portheris wore the expression of one passing through the Stone Age to a somewhat more mobile period.  “I really think,” she said, “I should have been made aware of that.  To have had a young relative presented without one’s knowledge seems too extraordinary.  No,” she continued, turning to poppa, “the only thing I heard of this young lady—­it came to me in a very roundabout manner—­was that she had gone home to be married.  Was not that your intention?” asked Mrs. Portheris, turning to me.

“It was,” I said.  There was nothing else to say.

“Then may I inquire if you fulfilled it?”

“I didn’t, Mrs. Portheris,” said I. I was very red, but not so red as Mr. Mafferton.  “Circumstances interfered.”  I was prepared for an inquiry as to what the circumstances were, and privately made up my mind that Mrs. Portheris was too distant a relation to be gratified with such information in the publicity of the Eiffel Tower.  But she merely looked at me with suspicion, and said it was much better that young people should discover their unsuitability to one another before marriage than after.  “I can conceive nothing more shocking than divorce,” said Mrs. Portheris, and her tone indicated that I had probably narrowly escaped it.

We were rather a large party as we made our way to the elevator, and I found myself behind the others in conversation with Dicky Dod.  It was a happiness to come thus unexpectedly upon Dicky Dod—­he gave forth all that is most exhilarating in our democratic civilisation, and he was in excellent spirits.  As the young lady of Mrs. Portheris’s party joined us I thought I found a barometric reading in Mr. Dod’s countenance that explained the situation.  “I remember you,” she said shyly, and there was something in this innocent audacity and the blush which accompanied it that helped me to remember her too.  “You came to see mamma in Half Moon-street once.  I am Isabel.”