Fulvia’s mocking amusement at her husband’s grandiose ideas as to the society they would presently be called upon to entertain was not altogether justified by the result. A good many people did come to call upon them--a good many more people than Minna had expected to do so; as for Fulvia, she had not expected anyone, except perhaps the parson of the parish, with whom a visit to them would be all in the day’s work. In spite of all her experience of the world in the last five years, she had overrated the repellant power of somewhat misty antecedents when backed by an anything but misty purse, suddenly appearing in the midst of a remote country district, where variety was not too frequent, and where curiosity was rampant. The clergyman did call, and it was known that Mrs. Hastings was on intimate terms with Mrs. Marchmont. Mrs. Marchmont’s beauty, like her husband’s riches, was a light which could not be hidden under a bushel; it burnt through it, and was evident to all who had the fortune to see her. Society was kind enough to a certain extent to glaze over the fact of Marchmont’s being a mere parvenu, and a disagreeable one. His illness and helplessness were much in his favour, especially as it was understood that he had no wish to cloister that beautiful young wife whose devotion and absolute propriety of conduct were understood to be exemplary. As the summer went on, invitations came, all of which he feverishly insisted upon her accepting. She was utterly averse to it, not, of course, from the motives attributed to her by society, but from sheer inner joylessness, emotional and moral starvation. She had been smitten to the heart when she had parted with her girlhood, and the wonderful strength which was hers was not the strength of joy and life, which initiates, enjoys, anticipates, but only that of repression and endurance. Whether she stayed at home or whether she went abroad was much the same to her. Each course was equally blank and barren and futile. But perhaps it was less troublesome to put on the fine clothes and go and mix with others, with ever the same glacial smile, than to refuse to do it, and submit to the querulous complaints and reproaches of her husband. Minna, who usually loved quietness, was quite willing to break through her habit to chaperon Fulvia, and she went out with her constantly. There was only one verdict as to Mrs. Marchmont. She was beautiful; she was clever; she was perfectly _comme il faut_; good style, quiet, self-possessed, no nonsense about her, ‘so much more like an Englishwoman than a foreigner,’ some discriminating critics said. But, then, she had been thrown so much amongst English people--she was so much with Mrs. Hastings--she had taken the stamp. The one fault that was found with her was that she was almost too quiet--was, at times, almost, if not quite, uninteresting.