She put a screw on her mind to perceive the rational object there might be for causing her mother to go through tortures in receiving and visiting; and she was arrested by the louder question, whether she could think such a man as her father irrational.

People with resounding names, waves of a steady stream, were announced by Arlington, just as in the days, that seemed remote, before she went to Moorsedge; only they were more numerous, and some of the titles had ascended a stage.  There were great lords, there were many great ladies; and Lady Grace Halley shuffling amid them, like a silken shimmer in voluminous robes.

They crowded about their host where he stood.  ‘He, is their Law!’ Colney said, speaking unintelligibly, in the absence of the Simeon Fenellan regretted so loudly by Mr. Beaves Urmsing.  They had an air of worshipping, and he of swimming.

There were also City magnates, and Lakelands’ neighbours:  the gentleman representing Pride of Port, Sir Abraham Quatley; and Colonel Corfe; Sir Rodwell and Lady Blachington; Mrs. Fanning; Mr. Caddis.  Few young men and maids were seen.  Dr. John Cormyn came without his wife, not mentioning her.  Mrs. Peter Yatt touched the notes for voices at the piano.  Priscilla Graves was a vacancy, and likewise the Rev. Septimus Barmby.  Peridon and Catkin, and Mr. Pempton took their usual places.  There was no fluting.  A famous Canadian lady was the principal singer.  A Galician violinist, zig-zagging extreme extensions and contractions of his corporeal frame in execution, and described by Colney as ’Paganini on wall,’ failed to supplant Durandarte in Nesta’s memory.  She was asked by Lady Grace for the latest of Dudley.  Sir Abraham Quatley named him with handsome emphasis.  Great dames caressed her; openly approved; shadowed the future place among them.

Victor alluded at night to Mrs. John Cormyn’s absence.  He said:  ’A homoeopathic doctor’s wife!’ nothing more; and by that little, he prepared Nesta for her mother’s explanation.  The great London people, ignorant or not, were caught by the strong tide he created, and carried on it.  But there was a bruiting of the secret among their set; and the one to fall away from her, Nataly marvellingly named Mrs. John Cormyn; whose marriage was of her making.  She did not disapprove Priscilla’s behaviour.  Priscilla had come to her and, protesting affection, had openly stated, that she required time and retirement to recover her proper feelings.  Nataly smiled a melancholy criticism of an inconsequent or capricious woman, in relating to Nesta certain observations Priscilla had dropped upon poor faithful Mr. Pempton, because of his concealment from her of his knowledge of things for this faithful gentleman had been one of the few not ignorant.  The rumour was traceable to the City.

‘Mother, we walk on planks,’ Nesta said.

Nataly answered:  ‘You will grow used to it.’