Lady Marabout spoke more hotly than Lady Marabout had ever spoken in all her life. Goodwood absolutely won--Goodwood absolutely "come to the point"--the crowning humiliation of the Hauttons positively within her grasp--her Marathon and Lemnos actually gained! and all to be lost and flung away by the unaccountable caprice of a wayward child! It was sufficient to exasperate a saint, and a saint Lady Marabout never pretended to be. Flora Montolieu toyed recklessly with her fan. "You told Sir Philip this evening, I think, of----" "I hinted it to him, my dear--yes. Philip has known all along how much I desired it, and as Goodwood is one of his oldest and most favorite friends, I knew it would give him sincere pleasure both for my sake and Goodwood's, and yours too, for I think Philip likes you as much as he ever does any young girl--better, indeed; and I could not imagine--I could not dream for an instant--that there was any doubt of your acceptation, as, indeed, there _cannot_ be. You have been jesting to worry me, Flora!" Little Montolieu rose, threw her fan aside, as if its ivory stems had been hot iron, and leaned against the mantelpiece. "You advise me to accept Lord Goodwood, then, Lady Marabout?" "My love, if you need my advice, certainly!--such an alliance will never be proffered to you again; the brilliant position it will place you in I surely have no need to point out!" returned Lady Marabout. "The little hypocrite!" she mused, angrily, "as if her own mind were not fully made up--as if any girl in Europe would hesitate over accepting the Doncaster coronet--as if a nameless Montolieu could doubt for a moment her own delight at being created Marchioness of Goodwood! Such a triumph as _that_--why I wouldn't credit _any_ woman who pretended she wasn't dazzled by it!" "I thought you did not approve of marriages of convenience?" Lady Marabout played a tattoo--slightly perplexed tattoo--with her spoon in her Sèvres saucer.