became familiar with London life and the ways of English society. Wherever I went, I was always introduced as Lady Elstree’s ‘friend,’ never as her companion. One day I happened to pick up a society paper containing an account of a reception I had attended. My name was included in the list of guests, and I was described as the ‘beautiful and brilliant Mdme. Douste.’ This fired my ambition, and I determined to become a society leader--a second Corinne, or Mdme. Pompadour. Then Dr. Neville Williams appeared upon the scene----” “It is a wonder you did not seek some one in a higher position than a mere body-healer,” interposed Herbert, with a touch of satire. “Yes, I might have done so, it is true; but I was rather struck with Neville Williams, although his disposition was the direct opposite of mine. He was then at the zenith of his fame, too, having managed to cure a royal princess by a special treatment of his own when all the highest physicians in the land had failed. He could have been knighted for that, had he wished. I saw a good deal of him, for he was a great friend of Sir Richard Elstree’s, and came often to Portland Place. We were married at St. George’s, Hanover Square--oh, you need not look sceptical; it was a _bonâ fide_ marriage. Percival’s brother-in-law, the Rev. J. W. Milnes, officiated, assisted by the clergy of St. George’s.” “And was your ambition realized?” “Partially. Society was inclined to look askance at me first of all, but it was not able to withstand me for long. I was a woman, I had a tongue, I could talk. I had the knack of finding out whatever I wanted to know about certain people too. They discovered by experience that it was unwise to offend me. They called me a dangerous woman behind my back, but conciliated me to my face. The only drawback to my happiness was that Percival was comparatively poor, and although I managed to get long credit, I was continually pressed for ready money.” “I had often heard of Mrs. Neville Williams from the Milnes’ family,” said the artist, musingly, “but of course I never dreamt of connecting her with you. Geoffrey Milnes used to say--pardon my telling you--that her extravagance, or rather yours, was the ruin of his uncle.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It may have been so, but he should not have married if he could not afford to keep me in proper style. He left me almost penniless when he died, and the house in Harley Street was mortgaged right up to its full value.” “And how did you get on then?” “Oh, the Duke of Wallingcourt--one of my greatest admirers--paid off the mortgage and set me on my feet again. Then there was the property in Surrey, which Percival had settled on me at the time of our marriage; that fetched nearly fifteen hundred pounds. Afterwards I became engaged to the duke, who, as you know, died a fortnight before the wedding was to have taken place. That was hard luck, for as Duchess of Wallingcourt I should have society at my feet.”