CHAPTER I. UNDONE. There was a crush at Mrs. Evershed’s beautiful house in Mark Place, and she now stood at the head of the staircase receiving her guests. Her face wore a smile, and conventional words of welcome rose to her lips. She was a handsome woman of about forty, and there were few people, even in Mayfair, who entertained more brilliantly. To look at her, her house, her servants, her guests, no one would suppose that she had a care in the world, and yet just behind that smiling face grim care dwelt. At this very moment, while money was being as lavishly expended as if it were mere water, she herself was on the verge of bankruptcy. The crisis was imminent; her creditors clamored. It would be impossible to keep the wolf at bay more than a few days longer. She knew of this, but still she smiled and received her guests with unction. Meanwhile Barbara, Mrs. Evershed’s only daughter, had hidden herself in the recess of a curtained window. She was nineteen years of age, and was considered one of the handsomest girls who had made their _debut_ that season. Had she been worldly-minded, and only thought of money, she might have made a match which would have saved Mrs. Evershed from all her money liabilities forever, but this was not Barbara’s way. She was a rebellious girl; she had never wanted for money, and could not realize the fact that she might soon be penniless. With sparkles in her eyes, lips slightly parted, and cheeks with the glow of beautiful expectation on them, she waited in her corner. Now and then she peeped forward and glanced at her mother. She knew perfectly well what her mother’s thoughts were. “Yes; she would like me to marry Lord Selwyn,” thought the girl to herself. “No matter even though he is seventy and ugly, and they also say that he drinks; has he not eighty thousand pounds a year, and would not the money put all mother’s terrible money affairs straight? But I won’t marry him; no, I won’t. There is only one man whom I care for.” Barbara was tall; her eyes were soft brown with a starry light in them. She had quantities of dark hair, too, which was coiled in a classical fashion round her stately head. She was dressed in white silk, and held in her hand a large feather fan. “I have made up my mind,” she said again to herself—“if Dick proposes to-night I shall accept him. When mother really knows that I am engaged to Dick she will think of some other way of getting out of her difficulties. I cannot and will not marry Lord Selwyn. As to Luke Tarbot, they say he is rich too.” She shuddered slightly. “Dick is the only man I will marry. If I were Dick’s wife I could be a good woman. It is true that he is only a briefless barrister at present, but he has got brains. He suits me, I suit him. I love him, and I will never, _never_ marry or love anybody else.”