Tall and slim, his hair a fair golden, his eyes ultramarine to their deepest depths, his features perfect, his mouth carved like a cameo, and almost as hard. Yet, however vain he may be, there is nothing really offensive in his vanity, nothing of that arrogant self-conceit, that overpowering self-complacency, that makes puppyism a mild epithet to apply to some men. Lord Delaval is spoilt, of course--an _enfant gâté_ of the fair sex, and prone to that general masculine failing of fancying himself perfectly irresistible; but on the whole, women adore him, and men pronounce him “not a bad sort.” At the present moment he suffers from _embarras des richesses_; for he knows that Gabrielle and Baby are both delightfully disposed towards him and--wonder of wonders--Zai seems to have suddenly awakened to a proper appreciation of him as well. But he is quite equal to any emergency of this kind. In his heart he admires Zai more than any of the Beranger family, and--he detests Carlton Conway. “Shall we have a turn?” he asks. She assents at once as she meets the ultramarine smiling eyes. And they too float round and round the room. They both waltz splendidly, and when Carl pauses a moment to give his partner breathing time, his eye falls at once on them, and in the same moment, someone remarks near him: “What a handsome couple Delaval and Zai Beranger make.” Before, however, he has time to recover his anger and jealousy, Zai and her escort have disappeared out on the lawn. Ever since she could toddle Zai has held her own. No one in the world is better able to paddle her own canoe than this beautiful little daughter of Belgravia, and from sheer feelings of pique, she is positively satisfied with the companion on whose arm she wanders through the flowery walks of Elm Lodge. There are plenty of other couples doing the same thing, so there is nothing against the convenances. And Zai knows that her mother is at this moment revelling in dreams of Lord Delaval for a son-in-law. “Let her revel if she likes,” Zai says to herself. “I shall marry Carl all the same.” And even while she soliloquises thus, she teems with coquetry; but it is a coquettishness that is perfectly subordinate to good taste, and her instincts are all those which come from gentle breeding. There is in her none of the making of what we call a fast young lady. When time has fully opened the flower, it will be of a higher order than any of those gaudy blossoms. Only nineteen, she shows a grace and subtlety, and a _savoir faire_ that astonishes Lord Delaval, and then, though beauty is only skin deep, Zai is so very beautiful. After all, this must be set down as her chief attraction.