It was more than could be said for Laurence Wynne. Never had he felt so uncomfortable. What would Fitzherbert and Treherne think of Miss West? If the story got round the clubs, Madeline’s reputation was at the mercy of every old woman--ay, and old man--in London. What on earth did she mean by descending on him at this hour, and dressed as if she was going to the opera? He stole a glance across the candle-shades. She was conversing quite at her ease with Mr. Treherne, who was looking all the admiration he no doubt felt--and no doubt Madeline was beautiful. What a complexion, what eyes, what clean-cut features, what a radiant, vivacious expression--and all set off by youth, a good milliner, and diamonds. “Who would dream,” he said, as he slowly withdrew his gaze, “that she was the same Madeline who, two years previously, had been Miss Selina’s slave, and had attracted his notice and commiseration in her darned and shabby black gown? or that she was the same Madeline who had pawned the very dress off her back not twelve months ago? She could not be the same.” He looked at her again. The idea of such a thing was grotesque nonsense. She, this brilliant being who had suddenly presented herself at his humble entertainment, had surely never been his hard-working, poverty-stricken, struggling wife. If she _had_, he could not realize the fact. This magnificent-looking young lady was a stranger to him. This was a woman--or girl--of the world. There she sat, this charming, unchaperoned young person, dining with three bachelors in the Temple with as much _sangfroid_ as if it were a most conventional and everyday occurrence. The truth was that, the first shock recovered, the fair guest was actually enjoying herself extremely. She was extraordinarily adaptable. For one thing, she liked the _risqué_, unusual situation--her two amusing, clever, mystified supporters on either hand, who were doing their utmost to take it all as a matter of course, and to be unusually agreeable and entertaining. And she liked looking across the table at her husband’s handsome, gloomy face, and remarked to herself that this was positively their first dinner-party, and that it should not be her fault if it did not go off well! Laurence’s silence and gravity implied that it was all very wrong; but it was, nevertheless, delightful. She felt quite carried out of herself with excitement and high spirits, and more than once the idea flashed across her mind-- “Shall I tell--shall I tell? Oh, it would be worth anything to see their faces when they hear that I am Mrs. Wynne!” But Mrs. Wynne was not very good at telling, as we know, and, without any exhausting effort of self-restraint, she was enabled to hold her peace. CHAPTER XXV. PLAIN SPEAKING.