“Charming,” replied the ever-affable gentleman.  “If I might only venture to say what makes it so infinitely!”

Much to her immediate chagrin at missing a direct compliment, which would have had to be parried, and might have led to ‘vistas,’ the too sprightly young lady found herself running on:  “It’s as nice as sin, without the knowledge that you are sinning.”

“Oh! do you think that part of it disagreeable?” said the captain.

“I think the heat terrific:”  she retrieved her ground.

“Coquet et coquette,” muttered Lady Charlotte, observing them from a distance; and wondered whether her sex might be strongly represented in this encounter.

It was not in the best taste, nor was it perhaps good policy (if I may quote the Tinley set), for the ladies of Brookfield to subscribe openly to the right of certain people present to be exclusive.  Arabella would have answered:  “Lady Gosstre and her party cannot associate with you to your mutual pleasure and profit; and do you therefore blame her for not attempting what would fail ludicrously?” With herself, as she was not sorry to show, Lady Gosstre could associate.  Cornelia had given up work to become a part of the Court.  Adela made flying excursions over the lawn.  Laura Tinley had the field below and Mr. Pericles to herself.  That anxious gentleman consulted his watch from time to time, as if he expected the birth of an event.

Lady Gosstre grew presently aware that there was more acrimony in Freshfield Sumner’s replies to Sir Twickenham (whom he had seduced into a political argument) than the professional wit need employ; and as Mr. Powys’s talk was getting so attractive that the Court had become crowded, she gave a hint to Georgiana and Lady Charlotte, prompt lieutenants, whose retirement broke the circle.

“I never shall understand how it was done,” Adela said subsequently.  It is hoped that everybody sees the importance of understanding such points.

She happened to be standing alone when a messenger came up to her and placed a letter in her hand, addressed to her sister Cornelia.  Adela walked slowly up to the heights.  She knew Mr. Barrett’s handwriting.  “Good heavens!”—­her thought may be translated out of Fine Shades—­“does C. really in her heart feel so blind to our situation that she can go on playing still?” When she reached the group it was to hear Mr. Powys speaking of Mr. Barrett.  Cornelia was very pale, and stood wretchedly in contrast among the faces.  Adela beckoned her to step aside.  “Here is a letter,” she said:  “there’s no postmark.  What has been the talk of that man?”

“Do you mean of Mr. Barrett?” Cornelia replied:—­“that his father was a baronet, and a madman, who has just disinherited him.”