‘No, I dare say not,’ was Monica’s remark.  And thereupon they turned to pleasanter themes.

That morning Widdowson had received from his sister-in-law a scribbled post-card, asking him to call upon Mrs. Luke early the day that followed.  Of course this meant that the lady was desirous of further talk concerning Miss Madden.  Unwillingly, but as a matter of duty, he kept the appointment.  It was at eleven in the morning, and, when admitted to the flat in Victoria Street which was his relative’s abode, he had to wait a quarter of an hour for the lady’s appearance.

Luxurious fashion, as might have been expected, distinguished Mrs. Luke’s drawing-room.  Costly and beautiful things superabounded; perfume soothed the air.  Only since her bereavement had Mrs. Widdowson been able to indulge this taste for modern exuberance in domestic adornment.  The deceased Luke was a plain man of business, who clung to the fashions which had been familiar to him in his youth; his second wife found a suburban house already furnished, and her influence with him could not prevail to banish the horrors amid which he chose to live:  chairs in maroon rep, Brussels carpets of red roses on a green ground, horse-hair sofas of the most uncomfortable shape ever designed, antimacassars everywhere, chimney ornaments of cut glass trembling in sympathy with the kindred chandeliers.  She belonged to an obscure branch of a house that culminated in an obscure baronetcy; penniless and ambitious, she had to thank her imposing physique for rescue at a perilous age, and though despising Mr. Luke Widdowson for his plebeian tastes, she shrewdly retained the good-will of a husband who seemed no candidate for length of years.  The money-maker died much sooner than she could reasonably have hoped, and left her an income of four thousand pounds.  Thereupon began for Mrs. Luke a life of feverish aspiration.  The baronetcy to which she was akin had inspired her, even from childhood, with an aristocratic ideal; a handsome widow of only eight-and-thirty, she resolved that her wealth should pave the way for her to a titled alliance.  Her acquaintance lay among City people, but with the opportunities of freedom it was soon extended to the sphere of what is known as smart society; her flat in Victoria Street attracted a heterogeneous cluster of pleasure-seekers and fortune-hunters, among them one or two vagrant members of the younger aristocracy.  She lived at the utmost pace compatible with technical virtue.  When, as shortly happened, it became evident that her income was not large enough for her serious purpose, she took counsel with an old friend great in finance, and thenceforth the excitement of the gambler gave a new zest to her turbid existence.  Like most of her female associates, she had free recourse to the bottle; but for such stimulus the life of a smart woman would be physically impossible.  And Mrs. Luke enjoyed life, enjoyed it vastly.  The goal of her ambition, if all went well in the City, was quite within reasonable hope.  She foretasted the day when a vulgar prefix would no longer attach to her name, and when the journals of society would reflect her rising effulgence.