what they said, and she was careful that plain dialogue should make her comprehensible to them.  Nature taught her these arts, through which her wit became extolled entirely on the strength of her reputation, and her beauty did her service by never taking aim abroad.  They are the woman’s arts of self-defence, as legitimately and honourably hers as the manful use of the fists with a coarser sex.  If it had not been nature that taught her the practice of them in extremity, the sagacious dowagers would have seen brazenness rather than innocence—­or an excuseable indiscretion—­in the part she was performing.  They are not lightly duped by one of their sex.  Few tasks are more difficult than for a young woman under a cloud to hoodwink old women of the world.  They are the prey of financiers, but Time has presented them a magic ancient glass to scan their sex in.

At Princess Paryli’s Ball two young men of singular elegance were observed by Diana, little though she concentered her attention on any figures of the groups.  She had the woman’s faculty (transiently bestowed by perfervid jealousy upon men) of distinguishing minutely in the calmest of indifferent glances.  She could see without looking; and when her eyes were wide they had not to dwell to be detective.  It did not escape her that the Englishman of the two hurried for the chance of an introduction, nor that he suddenly, after putting a question to a man beside him, retired.  She spoke of them to Emma as they drove home.  ’The princess’s partner in the first quadrille . . .  Hungarian, I suppose?  He was like a Tartar modelled by a Greek:  supple as the Scythian’s bow, braced as the string!  He has the air of a born horseman, and valses perfectly.  I won’t say he was handsomer than a young Englishman there, but he had the advantage of soldierly training.  How different is that quick springy figure from our young men’s lounging style!  It comes of military exercise and discipline.’

’That was Count Jochany, a cousin of the princess, and a cavalry officer,’ said Emma.  ’You don’t know the other?  I am sure the one you mean must be Percy Dacier.’

His retiring was explained:  the Hon. Percy Dacier was the nephew of Lord Dannisburgh, often extolled to her as the promising youngster of his day, with the reserve that he wasted his youth:  for the young gentleman was decorous and studious; ambitious, according to report; a politician taking to politics much too seriously and exclusively to suit his uncle’s pattern for the early period of life.  Uncle and nephew went their separate ways, rarely meeting, though their exchange of esteem was cordial.

Thinking over his abrupt retirement from the crowded semicircle, Diana felt her position pinch her, she knew not why.