There were two or three ladies seated near Lady Forwood, and a few men were standing about in the big front drawing-room. One of these was the count, who bowed to him with what he considered an ironical smile. “I want you particularly to take in Lady Boisville,” Lady Forwood said to him after she had said a few nothings. “She is dying to talk to you. You know she is a bit blue—and she positively raves about your ‘Commentaries on Psychological Facts.’ Did I pronounce that properly? Yes? For the first time, I assure you!” Then she introduced him to the lady in question. Lady Boisville was the wife of a millionaire who had been recently created a baron for some good reason best known to the title creators of the period. She was a stout lady in the sixties, who worshipped brains, as she said, and took a motherly interest in her juniors. She was fond of a little bit of gossip, and Hugh listened to her monologue half interested, half dreading that he might hear something—what, he hardly knew—that would unpleasantly affect him. “You know Count Tornelli?” she said to him, after she had chattered about most of the persons present not strictly within earshot. “The man who is always with the Prince Andriocchi? I am very much interested in him.” “Indeed?” remarked Hugh, coldly. “You speak as if—do you know anything about him that is not quite nice?” asked her ladyship, alarmed by his manner. “Because, if you do, you must tell me at once! That dark girl sitting by him is my niece, and we quite think that it will be a match—if everything should be suitable, of course.” Hugh felt quite sorry for having excited Lady Boisville’s suspicions. He became suddenly sympathetic in her regard, and thinking she was a good motherly soul, he assured her quite warmly that during his slight acquaintance with the count he had seen nothing at all at which she might take exception. “I hear that the prince is dreadfully _fast_” said she. “But that the count does his utmost to lead him away from his temptations.” “A sort of Mentor,” said Hugh, with a smile. He felt amused now, and discussed the advantages of the possible marriage with Lady Boisville with as much interest as if he had been a lady matchmaker. The dinner over, he established himself in a corner of the back drawing-room and watched the arrivals to the “At Home.” These were many; people he knew, people he did not know. Every gown as it flitted past the doorway set him on the alert—he felt that each dark head or pair of snowy shoulders might be hers.