"And of all the undeserved good fortune!" he resumed, feeling in his irritable disapproval that the moral order of the universe had been somehow trifled with. "In the first place, she is the daughter of people who flagrantly misconducted themselves--_that_ apparently does her no harm. Then she enters the service of Lady Henry in a confidential position, and uses it to work havoc in Lady Henry's social relations. That, I am glad to say, _has_ done her a little harm, although not nearly as much as she deserves. And finally she has a most discreditable flirtation with a man already engaged--to her own cousin, please observe!--and pulls wires for him all over the place in the most objectionable and unwomanly manner." "As if everybody didn't do that!" cried the Duchess. "You know, Freddie, that your own mother always used to boast that she had made six bishops and saved the Establishment." The Duke took no notice. "And yet there she is! Lord Lackington has left her a fortune--a competence, anyway. She marries Jacob Delafield--rather a fool, I consider, but all the same one of the best fellows in the world. And at any time, to judge from what one hears of the health both of Chudleigh and his boy, she may find herself Duchess of Chudleigh." The Duke threw himself back in the carriage with the air of one who waits for Providence to reply. "Oh, well, you see, you can't make the world into a moral tale to please you," said the Duchess, absently. Then, after a pause, she asked, "Are you still going to let them have the house, Freddie?" "I imagine that if Jacob Delafield applies to me to let it to _him_, that I shall not refuse him," said the Duke, stiffly. The Duchess smiled behind her fan. Yet her tender heart was not in reality very happy about her Julie. She knew well enough that it was a strange marriage of which they had just been witnesses--a marriage containing the seeds of many untoward things only too likely to develop unless fate were kinder than rash mortals have any right to expect. "I wish to goodness Delafield weren't so religious," murmured the Duchess, fervently, pursuing her own thoughts. "Evelyn!" "Well, you see, Julie isn't, at all," she added, hastily. "You need not have troubled yourself to tell me that," was the Duke's indignant reply. * * * * * After a fortnight at Camaldoli and Vallombrosa the Delafields turned towards Switzerland. Julie, who was a lover of Rousseau and Obermann, had been also busy with the letters of Byron. She wished to see with her own eyes St. Gingolphe and Chillon, Bevay and Glion.