“Well--I’ve no call to be ashamed; it was six years ago, and I was only a slip of a thing; but a man did kiss me, and I kissed him”--a pause--“through a pane of glass!” Tito sat erect, stared incredulously, and burst into a scream of laughter; it rang through the room, peal after peal. At that moment Lady Grizel appeared in the doorway, where she stood for a moment in startled silence. “Why, Tito, you have nearly drowned the luncheon gong!” she said. “What _is_ the joke?” Tito, still gasping for breath, scrambled off the sofa and replied: “The best joke I’ve heard for years!” and drying her eyes, she repeated, “The best I’ve heard for years! I must refer you to Joseline!” But Joseline had already sprung to her feet, and fled. CHAPTER XXIV Lady Mulgrave and her guests were already seated, when two late arrivals joined them with hurried apologies. “Good morning,” she said, tendering a dainty hand to Joseline, and offering her ear to be kissed. But this ignorant Irish peasant failed to accept the hint, having no conception that she was being honoured with permission to salute her stepmother’s delicately powdered skin; and she stood for a moment, undecided and embarrassed. “Well, there, my dear, go and sit down,” said her ladyship, indicating a place next to herself. “I hope you are rested?” “Thank you, I’m finely to-day.” “I suppose you have been round the house?” “Yes. It’s wonderful; it’s grand. I never saw the likes of it.” Lady Mulgrave smiled faintly, and said, with half malicious emphasis, “No, dear, I should imagine _not_!” Her look was significant, though her smile was enchanting. Joseline instantly withdrew into herself and proceeded to eat her lunch in nervous silence. Whatever she said or did was bound to be wrong. She read--she was quick in such matters--criticism and ridicule in the other woman’s eyes. Those same eyes watched her from time to time with a curious, scrutinising gaze. Seen in the broad light of day, the girl’s extraordinary resemblance to her mother came home to Lady Mulgrave like a shock. She had never ceased to be jealous of that exquisite portrait! And here was the picture alive, a brilliant and emphatic reality, seated beside her at table, and, oh! small sweet consolation! eating French beans with a knife! Although Mrs. Dawson had secured a splendid position for herself and daughter, her affection for Lord Mulgrave was lukewarm; she had, however, acted her part to perfection. By-and-by it had dawned on her husband that there was no sincerity behind all those honey-sweet words. Gradually he had withdrawn into himself, and they had drifted apart, having nothing whatever in common.