Mr. West announced that he was obliged to run down to Brighton on business and would not return until late that night, and he commanded his daughter to write and ask Lady Rachel to come and lunch, and spend the day. At lunch time Lady Rachel duly drove up, and rustled in, full of gossip, full of vitality, and dressed out in the last suggestion of the winter’s fashion. She had a great deal to tell about a grand dinner at a great house the previous evening, and retailed volubly and at length--the _menu_, the names of the guests--twenty-six--and the dresses of the ladies. “I wore a new frock, rather a daring style, geranium-red, silk skirt and sleeves, and a white satin body, veiled in black net, and embroidered in steel sequins. But it really _was_ sweet--one of Doucet’s. I dare not think of the price. However, it suited me--so my cavalier assured me.” “You asked him?” “I don’t think I did. He was a barrister. Barristers are looking up! Yes, another chicken cutlet, please,” holding out her plate--the Jeameses were banished. “And such a good-looking young man--a Mr. Wynne. My dear, you are giving me oyster sauce!” she screamed. “What _are_ you thinking about? And, oh--where was I--what was I saying? Yes, about Wynne. He was so amusing, and said such witty things. I wish I could remember half--nay, any one of them--and pass them off as my own. It was more the way he said them, though. And Madeline, my love,” laying down her knife and fork, as if suddenly overwhelmed by the recollection, “he had the most irresistible dark eyes I ever looked into!” “Ever looked into?” repeated Madeline. “You--you seem quite impressed,” breaking up her bread rather viciously. She--no, well she did not like it! How dared any woman talk of her husband’s irresistible dark eyes? And Laurence, had he been flirting? Could he flirt? Lady Rachel was an irreclaimable coquette. “He is coming to dine with us next Sunday week. I wish you could come too, and see my new lion. They say he is awfully clever. Writes such smart articles, and scarifies us poor women. The emancipated female is his particular horror.” “Indeed! How very pleasant!” “But men like him, which is always a good sign. They say he is going into Parliament some day.” “If you are going to make a lion of every one who is said to be going into the House of Commons, you will be able to stock every menagerie in Europe,” retorted Madeline, dusting crumbs off her lap. “Or that I shall discover a good many asses under lions’ skins, eh? I mentioned you, _ma belle_, and asked if he had ever heard of you, and he said yes. See what it is to be a social celebrity! And I told him that you were the prettiest girl and greatest heiress in London--and that he really _ought_ to know you.” “And--and what did he say?” turning a salt-cellar round and round. “Oh, I’m not quite sure what he said beyond that he was a busy man, and--oh yes, that he detested the genus heiress.”