and sulphur oil on the head of an impudent, underbred, ambitious young slut, whose arts had bewitched a distinguished nobleman not young in years at least, and ensnared the remainder wits of some principal ancient ladies of the land.  Professional Puritans, born conservatives, malicious tattlers, made up a goodly tail to Lady Charlotte’s party.  The epithet ‘unbred’ was accredited upon the quoted sayings and doings of the pretentious young person’s aunt, repeated abroad by noblemen and gentlemen present when she committed herself; and the same were absurd.  They carried a laugh, and so they lived and circulated.  Lord Ormont submitted to the infliction of that horrid female in his household!  It was no wonder he stopped short of allying himself with the family.

Nor was it a wonder that the naturally enamoured old warrior or invalided Mars (for she had the gift of beauty) should deem it prudent to be out of England when she and her crazy friends determined on the audacious move.  Or put it the other way—­for it is just as confounding right side or left—­she and her friends take advantage of his absence to make the clever push for an establishment, and socially force him to legalize their union on his return.  The deeds of the preceding reign had bequeathed a sort of legendary credence to the wildest tales gossip could invent under a demurrer.

But there was the fact, the earl was away.  Lady Charlotte’s party buzzed everywhere.  Her ladyship had come to town to head it.  Her ladyship laid trains of powder from dinner-parties, balls, routs, park-processions, into the Lord Chamberlain’s ear, and fired and exploded them, deafening the grand official.  Do you consider that virulent Pagan Goddesses and the flying torch-furies are extinct?  Error of Christians!  We have relinquished the old names and have no new ones for them; but they are here, inextinguishable, threading the day and night air with their dire squib-trail, if we would but see.  Hissing they go, and we do not hear.  We feel the effects.

Upon the counsel of Mrs. Lawrence, Aminta sent a letter to Lord Ormont at his hotel in Paris, informing him of the position of affairs.  He had delayed his return, and there had been none of his brief communications.

She wrote, as she knew, as she felt, coldly.  She was guided by others, and her name was up before the world, owing to some half-remembered impulsion of past wishes, but her heart was numbed; she was not a woman to have a wish without a beat of the heart in it.  For her name she had a feeling, to be likened rather to the losing gambler’s contemplation of a big stake he has flung, and sees it gone while fortune is undecided; and he catches at a philosophy nothing other than his hug of a modest little background pleasure, that he has always preferred to this accursed bad habit of gambling with the luck against him.  Reckless in the cast, she was reckless of success.

Her letter was unanswered.