Her maid found her still seated on the sofa, and ventured to remind her that time was fugitive, and that if mademoiselle still retained her intention of going to Lady Earlscourt’s dinner party,—­Lady Earlscourt was giving a dinner party apparently for the purpose of celebrating her husband’s departure for a cruise in Norwegian fjords in his yacht,—­it would be absolutely necessary for mademoiselle to permit herself to be dressed without delay.

Phyllis sprang up with a little laugh that sounded like a large sigh, and said if Fidele would have the kindness to switch on the lights in the dressing room, she would not be kept waiting a moment.

The maid hurried upstairs, and mademoiselle repaired to an apartment where she could remove, so far as was possible, the footmarks left by those tears which she had shed when she had reflected upon the loneliness to which Mr. Herbert Courtland was doomed for (probably) the remainder of his life.

Mademoiselle had a dread of the acuteness of vision with which her maid was endowed.  She was not altogether sure that Fidele would be capable of understanding the emotion that had forced those tears to her eyes.

But that was just where she was wrong.  Fidele was capable of understanding that particular emotion a good deal better than mademoiselle understood it.

CHAPTER XIX.

THEY HAVE SOULS TO BE SAVED.

When Lord Earlscourt was at home the only two topics that were debarred from the dinner table were religion and politics; but when Lord Earlscourt was absent these were the only two topics admitted at the dinner table.  Lady Earlscourt had views, well-defined, clearly outlined, on both religion and politics, and she greatly regretted that there still remained some people in the world who held other views on both subjects; it was very sad—­for them; and she felt that it was clearly her duty to endeavor by all the legitimate means in her power—­say, dinner parties for eight—­to reduce the number of these persons.  It was rumored that in the country she had shown herself ready to effect her excellent object by illegitimate means—­say, jelly and flannel petticoats—­as well.

She wore distinctly evangelical boots, though, in the absence of her husband, she had expressed her willingness to discuss the advantages of the confessional.  She had, however, declined, in the presence of her husband, to entertain the dogma of infallibility:  though she admitted that the cardinals were showy; she would have liked one about her house, say, as a footman.  She thought there was a great deal in Buddhism (she had read “The Light of Asia” nearly through), and she believed that the Rev. George Holland had been badly treated by Phyllis Ayrton.  She admitted having been young once—­only once; but no one seemed to remember it against her, so she was obliged to talk about it herself, which she did with the lightness of a serious woman of thirty-two.