“You might have spared yourself the trouble of doubting,” said I, “for after hearing that I had been to Court you might have guessed that a matter of two guineas would not have kept me away.  I am sorry for our old friendship’s sake that I did not pay the money to you; for you might have known that I would not condescend to be present in the modest manner you indicated.”

This address, delivered with an ironical accent, embarrassed Madame Cornelis, but Lady Harrington, a great supporter of hers, came to her rescue.

“I have a number of guineas to hand over to you, my dear Cornelis, and amongst others two from M. de Seingalt, who, I fancy, is an old friend of yours.  Nevertheless, I did not dare to tell him so,” she added, with a sly glance in my direction.

“Why not, my lady?  I have known Madame Cornelis for many years.”

“I should think you have,” she answered, laughing, “and I congratulate you both.  I suppose you know the delightful Miss Sophie too, Chevalier?”

“Certainly, my lady, who so knows the mother knows the daughter.”

“Quite so, quite so.”

Sophie was standing by, and after kissing her fondly Lady Harrington said,—­

“If you love yourself, you ought to love her, for she is the image of you.”

“Yes, it is a freak of nature.”

“I think there is something more than a freak in this instance.”

With these words the lady took Sophie’s hand, and leaning on my arm she led us through the crowd, and I had to bear in silence the remarks of everyone.

“There is Madame Cornelis’s husband.”

“That must be M. Cornelis.”

“Oh! there can be no doubt about it.”

“No, no,” said Lady Harrington, “you are all quite wrong.”

I got tired of these remarks, which were all founded on the remarkable likeness between myself and Sophie.  I wanted Lady Harrington to let the child go, but she was too much amused to do so.

“Stay by me,” she said, “if you want to know the names of the guests.”  She sat down, making me sit on one side and Sophie on the other.

Madame Cornelis then made her appearance, and everyone asked her the same questions, and made the same remarks about me.  She said bravely that I was her best and her oldest friend, and that the likeness between me and her daughter might possibly be capable of explanation.  Everyone laughed and said it was very natural that it should be so.  To change the subject, Madame Cornelis remarked that Sophie had learnt the minuet and danced it admirably.

“Then fetch a violin player,” said Lady Harrington, “that we may have the pleasure of witnessing the young artist’s performance.”

The ball had not yet begun, and as soon as the violinist appeared, I stepped forward and danced with Sophie, to the delight of the select circle of spectators.