"I cannot tell. I want to make my will." "My dear!" "Is that another original idea? People have done such a thing before. Why do you particularly want to know about the time, Lady Lyons? You very clever people always have a motive in asking anything." "It is about the rooms, my dear, and it is about my son," and Lady Lyons looked at Grace to see whether this mention of her son's name had any interest for her. Grace hardly heard her. She was conscious herself of being very much worse in health than she had been when she arrived in London. It was true she had met many mortifications, but she did not care much about them. She had seen something of that whirl she had longed to be in, though she was conscious she had only been at the edge and looking on from a distance. The disenchantment, however, was complete; she saw that, unless living and moving amongst people and having them as friends, there was no pleasure in going to any place, however brilliant; and she was struck with the higher tone of many of the people she met, who did not live only for pleasure, but who took interest in other things, and who accepted "excitement" as an interruption, even if a pleasant interruption, to their usual pursuits, and did not make it their business. She grew ashamed of the frivolous aims and small ambitions she had, and, though she did not own it to herself, she wished she was more like Margaret. Sir Albert called one day to say good-bye. He was going abroad. He wanted very much to say something to Grace, but he wanted to speak to her alone, and Lady Lyons was always there. That good woman's way of thanking him for the trouble he had taken to promote their amusement was very amusing. "Yes, indeed, Sir Albert, but for you, as I always say to Miss Rivers, no supper, no partners, a hard bench and a crowd. Oh, dear! I shall never forget it, never! Then you came, and that supper, and the Duchess was civil, and I had a pleasant conversation, and all was different." "I am very glad I was able to be of use. The Duchess is always kind." "Yes, she is very kind--though I bowed to her yesterday and she did not know me; perhaps, as I had a very thick veil on she could not see me," Lady Lyons added reflectively. "Perhaps not." "There is only one thing, Sir Albert, if you don't mind my saying it--I was so surprised to see her so plain." "So plain! We think, in the family, that my aunt, for her age, is very good-looking; she has such a pleasant face." "Oh! I don't mean plain in the sense of ugly," Lady Lyons said, in a great hurry, "but plain in her dress. She had no jewels on, not even a diamond ring, for I looked to see when she took off her gloves at supper." "Some people think that the hostess ought to be unadorned. I rather like the sentiment." "I don't the least understand it," said Lady Lyons, bluntly; "when I used to have company I put on my smartest gown." "I suppose the Duchess has no smartest gowns," he answered laughing.