"Well?" said the Duchess, sharply. "It seemed to me there was something of a demonstration." "Against Julie? Let them try it!" said the little lady, with evasive defiance. "We shall be too strong for them." "Lady Henry is putting her back into it. I confess I never thought she would be either so venomous or so successful." "Julie will come out all right." "She would--triumphantly--if--" The Duchess glanced at him uneasily. "I believe you are overworking her. She looks skin and bone." Dr. Meredith shook his head. "On the contrary, I have been holding her back. But it seems she wants to earn a good deal of money." "That's so absurd," cried the Duchess, "when there are people only pining to give her some of theirs." "No, no," said the journalist, brusquely. "She is quite right there. Oh, it would be all right if she were herself. She would make short work of Lady Henry. But, Mademoiselle Julie"--for she glided past them, and he raised his voice--"sit down and rest yourself. Don't take so much trouble." She flung them a smile. "Lord Lackington is going," and she hurried on. Lord Lackington was standing in a group which contained Sir Wilfrid Bury and Mr. Montresor. "Well, good-bye, good-bye," he said, as she came up to him. "I must go. I'm nearly asleep." "Tired with abusing me?" said Montresor, nonchalantly, turning round upon him. "No, only with trying to make head or tail of you," said Lackington, gayly. Then he stooped over Julie. "Take care of yourself. Come back rosier--and _fatter_." "I'm perfectly well. Let me come with you." "No, don't trouble yourself." For she had followed him into the hall and found his coat for him. All the arrangements for her little "evening" had been of the simplest. That had been a point of pride with her. Madame Bornier and Thérèse dispensing tea and coffee in the dining-room, one hired parlor-maid, and she herself active and busy everywhere. Certain French models were in her head, and memories of her mother's bare little salon in Bruges, with its good talk, and its thinnest of thin refreshments--a few cups of weak tea, or glasses of _eau sucrée_, with a plate of _patisserie_. The hired parlor-maid was whistling for a cab in the service of some other departing guest; so Julie herself put Lord Lackington into his coat, much to his discomfort. "I don't think you ought to have come," she said to him, with soft reproach. "Why did you have that fainting fit before dinner?" "I say! Who's been telling tales?" "Sir Wilfrid Bury met your son, Mr. Chantrey, at dinner." "Bill can never hold his tongue. Oh, it was nothing; not with the proper treatment, mind you. Of course, if the allopaths were to get their knives into me--but, thank God! I'm out of that _galère_. Well, in a fortnight, isn't it? We shall both be in town again. I don't like saying good-bye." And he took both her hands in his. "It all seems so strange to me still--so strange!" he murmured.