“Are we placed under a professor to learn the art?” Adela inquired, pleased with the subject under such high patronage.

“Each new experience is your accomplished professor,” said Tracy.  “One I’ll call Cleopatra a professor:  she’s but an illustrious example.”

“Imp! you are corrupt.”  With which my lady tapped farewell on his shoulder.  Leaning from the carriage window, she said:  “I suppose I shall see you at Richford?  Merthyr Powys is coming this week.  And that reminds me:  he would be the man to appreciate your ‘born artist.’  Bring her to me.  We will have a dinner.  I will despatch a formal invitation to-morrow.  The season’s bad out of town for getting decent people to meet you.  I will do my best.”

She bowed to Adela and Tracy.  Mr. Pole, who had hovered around the unfamiliar dialogue to attend the great lady to the door, here came in for a recognition, and bowed obsequiously to the back of the carriage.

Arabella did not tell her sisters what weapons she had employed to effect the rout of Mrs. Chump.  She gravely remarked that the woman had consented to go, and her sisters thanked her.  They were mystified by Laura’s non-recognition of Emilia, and only suspected Wilfrid so faintly that they were able to think they did not suspect him at all.  On the whole, the evening had been a success.  It justified the ladies in repeating a well-known Brookfield phrase:  “We may be wrong in many things, but never in our judgement of the merits of any given person.”  In the case of Tracy Runningbrook, they had furnished a signal instance of their discernment.  Him they had met at the house of a friend of the Tinleys (a Colonel’s wife distantly connected with great houses).  The Tinleys laughed at his flaming head and him, but the ladies of Brookfield had ears and eyes for a certain tone and style about him, before they learnt that he was of the blood of dukes, and would be a famous poet.  When this was mentioned, after his departure, they had made him theirs, and the Tinleys had no chance.  Through Tracy, they achieved their introduction to Lady Gosstre.  And now they were to dine with her.  They did not say that this was through Emilia.  In fact, they felt a little that they had this evening been a sort of background to their prodigy:  which was not in the design.  Having observed, “She sang deliciously,” they dismissed her, and referred to dresses, gaucheries of members of the company, pretensions here and there, Lady Gosstre’s walk, the way to shuffle men and women, how to start themes for them to converse upon, and so forth.  Not Juno and her Court surveying our mortal requirements in divine independence of fatigue, could have been more considerate for the shortcomings of humanity.  And while they were legislating this and that for others, they still accepted hints for their own improvement, as those who have Perfection in view may do.  Lady Gosstre’s carriage of her shoulders, and general manner, were admitted to be worthy of study.