“Hargreaves! What can Baby know of _his_ niceness?” Lady Beranger questions, in her severest tone. “Nothing mamma; it is only Gabrielle’s spite because she thinks Lord Delaval such a paragon!” Lady Beranger passes her eye over Gabrielle, icily. “I do not think it is of importance to us what you think of Lord Delaval, Gabrielle, so long as your sentiments in no way clash with mine on the subject. Did you ask Zai to come in?” “I am here, mamma, do you want me?” Zai says, walking quietly into the bosom of her family, and thinking what a very uncomfortable place it is. The balmy breeze stirring the elm tops has not wooed her in vain--for her cheeks look like blush roses and her hair seems to have caught in its meshes every glint of sunlight that fell on it. “Yes, I want you, or rather I don’t want you to take up your residence completely in the grounds, to ruin your skin, and to catch those vulgar things, freckles; you have a coarse flush on your face now, like a housemaid. Zai, I must really put my veto on your goings on.” “What goings on, mamma? It is deliciously cool under the trees and this room is quite stifling. What can it signify if my skin does tan a little; I love to be out in the grounds, where I can think comfortably.” “Think! what on earth can you have to think about, Zai?” Lady Beranger begins sternly, and Zai knows she is in for a lecture. “Girls of your age, if they are of properly-regulated minds, let others think for them. You have three or four serious duties in life to attend to. The first duty is to honour your father and mother and obey them implicitly; the second, is to take care of your looks, and to dress well; the third is----” “To marry an eligible,” Gabrielle chimes in pertly. “Exactly!” Lady Beranger says calmly. “Your chief duty is to show your gratitude to your parents, for all they have done for you, by making a good match.” “I don’t care for money,” Zai murmurs meekly. “Of course you don’t; you don’t care for anything, that you ought to care for, Zai. You positively ignore the fact of who you are, and forget common deference to society, which is, attention to the people around you. Last Thursday night, I heard Lady Vandeleur bewailing how _distraite_ you were, and she smiled, Zai! smiled, quite in an aggravating way! She heard you reply to Lord Delaval when he asked for a valse: ‘I’ll take strawberry, please.’ No wonder she hinted to me that you had something on your mind!” “Poor old Lady Vandeleur fancies, perhaps, like Shakspeare, that Zai has-- ‘A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet!’” suggests Gabrielle once more. “Why did you not tell her that your daughter is _stage struck_?” “Your attempts at wit are dreadful, Gabrielle,” Lady Beranger murmurs languidly. “Your tongue is, indeed, an unruly member.”