“She is extremely pretty and looks well bred—­quite too extraordinary,” she said to herself, in a running commentary.  “Grandfather a convict, no doubt.  She reminds me of poor Minnie Borringdon, who ran off with that charming scapegrace brother of Patrick Fitzgerald.  I wonder what became of them?”

Lady Bracondale deplored the ways of many of the set she was obliged to move in—­Delicia Harrowfield, for instance.  But what was one to do?  One must know one’s old friends, especially those to whom one had been a bridesmaid!

The Crow, who had begun by being determined to find Theodora as cunning as other angels he was acquainted with, before the second course had fallen completely under her spell.

No one to look into her tender eyes could form an adverse opinion about her; and her gentle voice, which only said kind things, was pleasing to the ear.

“’Pon my soul, Hector is not such a fool as I thought,” Colonel Lowerby said to himself.  “This seems a bit of pure gold—­poor little white lady!  What will be the end of her?”

And opposite, Hector, with great caution, devoured her with his eyes.

Theodora herself was quite happy, though her delicate intuition told her Lady Harrowfield was antagonistic to her, and Hector’s mother exceedingly stiff, while most of the other women eyed her clothes and talked over her head.  But they all seemed of very little consequence to her, somehow.

She was like the sun, who continues to shine and give warmth and light no matter how much ugly imps may look up and make faces at him.

Theodora was never ill at ease.  It would grieve her sensitive heart to the core if those she loved made the faintest shade of difference in their treatment of her—­but strangers!  They counted not at all, she had too little vanity.

Both her neighbors, the young politician and the Crow, were completely fascinated by her.  She had not the slightest accent in speaking English, but now and then her phrasing had a quaint turn which was original and attractive.

Anne was not enjoying her luncheon-party.  The impression of sorrow and calamity which the conversation with her brother had left upon her deepened rather than wore off.

Josiah’s commonplace and sometimes impossible remarks perhaps helped it.

She seemed to realize how it must all jar on Hector.  To know his loved one belonged to this worthy grocer—­to understand the hopelessness of the position!

Anne was proud of her family and her old name.  It was grief, too, to think that after Hector the title would go to Evermond Le Mesurier, the unmarried and dissolute uncle, if he survived his nephew, and then would die out altogether.  There would be no more Baron Bracondales of Bracondale, unless Hector chose to marry and have sons.  Oh, life was a topsy-turvy affair at the best of times, she sighed to herself.

Just before the ladies left the table, Josiah had announced their intended visit to Beechleigh, and his wife’s relationship to Sir Patrick Fitzgerald and the old Earl Borringdon.