was in her element, and, even more than her mother, seemed to be everywhere at once, but Friga thought it detestable, and whenever she could snatch half-a-minute from the incessant conversation she was obliged to keep up, drew Lesbia aside. Our heroine’s mother and aunt had both come, partly out of curiosity to see the Cardinal, who had not yet arrived. As for her uncle, he was extensively interviewed by old and new acquaintances, and had his hands full. Lesbia’s dress for such occasions was a compromise between frock and zouaves, with tunic above and stockings below carefully harmonised. She and her uncle had bestowed great pains upon it in consultation with the makers to the Rational Dress Society, and the result was a decided success; everyone who knew her, and some who did not, coming near to have a look, and going away with a gain of new ideas as to female fashion. As for the young girl herself, she was by this time so thoroughly inured to being peculiar, that it sat as naturally upon her as her clear healthy complexion. It is fair to mention, by the way, that the complexion, good or bad, of all ladies who had the entrée of this house sat naturally upon them; the hostess did not care to know the sort of people who make themselves up, no matter in what manner or in what region.
‘How d’ye do, Miss Newman; rawther meet you here than at lawn tennis, aw,’ suddenly drawled a dapper little young man, twirling his moustache with his night finger and thumb, while he thrust the left into his trousers pocket, and swung his way up to Lesbia on alternate heels.
‘What? Oh, Mr Dandidimmons, to be sure!’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘How could I be such an oaf as not to recognise at once the Julius Cæsar of chivalry, the patron of ladies?’
Julius seemed a little dashed for the moment, but re-
