Bexley shrugged his shoulders. When one lady designates another fair dame as “that woman,” it is an infallible sign that there is no love lost between the two. “I presume you mean Mrs. Neville Williams,” he answered _sotto voce_. “I am sure I don’t know why you are so dead against her. It is not like you to be uncharitable, Marjorie.” “I remember Dr. Williams, and I remember the poor infatuated Duke of Wallingcourt,” she returned in a whisper. “They were good men in their way, and she ruined them both. I don’t like to see good men ruined, therefore I am uncharitable.” The musicians struck up the third movement of the trio. Bexley was silent, and his sister gave her attention again to the music. Gladys Milnes, who sat the other side of Lady Marjorie, also listened attentively, her face aglow with interest and excitement. She might have been what her aunt had termed her, a _gauche_ little country wench, but she was very charming for all that. There was no deception about _her_ wavy golden hair and peach-like complexion; they were the gifts of Nature--which her aunt’s were not. And if she were not a fashionable young lady with the fashionable affectation of _ennui_, at least she was genuinely healthy in body, mind, and soul--which, too, her aunt was not. It was her first visit to the metropolis, and she had come for the sole purpose of attending this concert. She was greatly impressed by all that she saw; the brilliancy of the audience almost took her breath away. Never before had she seen such a galaxy of fair women, such a profusion of beautiful dresses and magnificent jewels. She began to wonder if this were what her father meant, when from the pulpit he denounced the “pomps and vanity of this wicked world;” for the elegant “creations” and “confections” represented an amount of money which, it seemed to her, might have been devoted to a much more useful purpose than the display of dress. She enjoyed watching them, nevertheless, and was keenly observant of all that went on around her. The trio was followed by a vocal duet, after which came a humorous duologue. Gladys enjoyed them both, but she was longing impatiently for Celia’s contribution to the programme, which did not come until just before the interval. She had not seen Celia for nearly a year, and wondered if her professional _début_ had changed her in any way. She could not imagine how her friend could have the courage to face that vast audience. Her heart beat quite fast when the short wait before Celia’s appearance occurred.