This night in June she stood at the top of her splendid staircase, blazing with jewels, receiving her guests, among whom more than one august personage, English and foreign, was expected to arrive; and an unusually sour frown disfigured the thick paint of her face.

It all seemed like fairy-land to Theodora as, accompanied by Josiah, and preceded by Mrs. Devlyn, she early mounted the marble steps with the rest of the throng.

She noticed the insolent stare of her hostess as she shook hands and then passed on in the crowd.

She felt a little shy and nervous and excited withal.  Every one around seemed to have so many friends, and to be so gay and joyous, and only she and Josiah stood alone.  For Mrs. Devlyn felt she had done enough for one night in bringing them there.

It was an immense crowd.  At a smaller ball Theodora’s exquisite beauty must have commanded instant attention, but this was a special occasion, and the world was too occupied with a desire to gape at the foreign king to trouble about any new-comers.  Certainly for the first hour or so.

Josiah was feeling humiliated.  Not a creature spoke to them, and they were hustled along like sheep into the ballroom.

A certain number of men stared—­stared with deep interest, and made plans for introductions as soon as the crowd should subside a little.

Theodora was perfectly dressed, and her jewels caused envy in numbers of breasts.

She was too little occupied with herself to feel any of Josiah’s humiliation.  This society was hers by right of birth, and did not disconcert her; only no one could help being lonely when quite neglected, while others danced.

Presently, a thin, ill-tempered-looking old man made his way with difficulty up to their corner; he had been speaking to Mrs. Devlyn across the room.

“I must introduce myself,” he said, graciously, to Theodora.  “I am your uncle, Patrick Fitzgerald, and I am so delighted to meet you and make your acquaintance.”

Theodora bowed without empressement.  She had no feeling for these relations who had been so indifferent to her while she was poor and who had treated darling papa so badly.

“I only got back to town last night, or I and my wife would have called at Claridge’s before this,” he continued.  And then he said something affable to Josiah, who looked strangely out of place among this brilliant throng.

For whatever may compose the elements of the highest London society, the atoms all acquire a certain air after a little, and if within this fine fleur of the aristocracy there lurked some Jews and Philistines and infidels of the middle classes, they were not quite new to the game, and had all received their gloss.  So poor Josiah stood out rather by himself, and Sir Patrick Fitzgerald felt a good deal ashamed of him.

Theodora’s fine senses had perceived all this long ago—­the contrast her husband presented to the rest of the world—­and it had made her stand closer to him and treat him with more deference than usual; her generous heart always responded to any one or anything in an unhappy position.