They are about the last tears dedicated to the memory of Carlton Conway; but, by-and-by, she bathes her eyes in cold water and smoothes her hair, and putting on her hat, goes out into the Square. But the Square is associated in her mind indelibly with that evening when she stole out from Lady Beranger’s ball to meet her faithless lover, and rising hastily from the bench, she walks home again. “Go and lie down, Zai, and rest yourself; you look like a ghost!” Lady Beranger says harshly, meeting her on the stairs. “Or better still, put on your white chip hat with the pink roses, and come with me to the Park. The air will beautify you, perhaps.” And Zai--who has learned by this time that Lady Beranger’s suggestions are really fiats--goes up and adorns herself, and is quite bewitching in the chip and roses by the time the Victoria is at the door. Lady Beranger leans back, a trifle pale, and with the _soupçon_ of a frown on her brow, and the carriage is just at Hyde Park Gate before she volunteers a remark. “You have seen the _Post_ to-day?” she says, carelessly. “Yes, Mamma, and I am so glad to see Mr. Conway is going to be married; Crystal Meredyth is very nice, and awfully rich, you know.” Lady Beranger turns round slowly and fixes her keen searching eyes on her daughter. But Zai has not been born and bred in Belgravia for nothing. Not a lash quivers--not a change of colour comes--under the scrutiny. “I always said Carlton Conway was a cad!” her ladyship observes coldly; “and I am very glad you have found it out too.” “But I haven’t, Mamma, not the least in the world. I think quite as well of Mr. Conway as ever.” Zai’s self-possession amazes and almost annoys Lady Beranger. She is positively out-Heroding Herod! But she only says, in a cold, hard voice: “Think as well of him as you like, Zai, so long as you keep it to yourself. His sort of people are all very nice in their proper places, but I have never advocated their being in Society. There _is_ the individual in question!” Zai looks eagerly round, and her cheeks glow crimson and then wax pale, and she bites her lips to stay their trembling, as the Meredyths’ high Barouche with stepping roans dashes by, having for its freight only Miss Meredyth and her _fiancé_! (Mrs. Meredyth, not so scrupulous as Lady Beranger about the _bienséances_, thinks there is no harm in an engaged couple being seen alone in the Park.) Miss Meredyth, dressed in rose colour, with a sailor’s hat perched coquettishly on her fair hair, looks uncommonly pretty, and so Carlton Conway seems to think, for he is so engrossed in regarding her that the Berangers’ Victoria is passed unnoticed. “I thought it was the Meredyth girl’s money the man was after, but he seems to be _énormément épris_,” Lady Beranger remarks indifferently, hoping the shaft will fly straight home and cure all remaining nonsense in her daughter’s head, or heart, or wherever it may be.