Minna heard these comments, of course, and never replied to them. Fulvia may have known more of them than was supposed. They were of about as much consequence to her as if they had never been uttered. Marchmont was feverishly eager to, as she euphoniously put it, ‘make some return for all this hospitality,’ and lawn-tennis parties were arranged, archery was revived, the biggest strawberries and the thickest cream that the county produced were freely dispensed, together with rivers of champagne-cup and claret-cup; dances of an impromptu nature sometimes followed these entertainments, at which some young people, at any rate, had a good time. Yewridge Hall had not been so gay or seen so much dissipation for many a year, but, then, for many a year it had not been inhabited by a millionaire. At all these entertainments the mistress of the house showed herself ever the same--calm, cool, and beautiful, polite to all, effusive to none. She was perfectly independent. She chose to distinguish one man beyond others by her preference for his company, and by permitting him to render her fifty little services and attentions which many another man would have performed with delight. She did it openly, in the light of day, in the face of all her guests and of her husband, on the rare occasions when he could be present at any of these gatherings. That man was Hans Riemann, who accepted the distinction accorded to him, or, rather, availed himself of it as a matter of course, without excitement, without showing either exultation or embarrassment. At first, some malicious tongues said it was odd. It went on, whether it was odd or not, and at last people ceased to talk about it. Hans Riemann had known Mrs. Marchmont in Rome long ago, when Minna Hastings had been her friend there; Marchmont himself had known him there. He always welcomed the rising painter with effusion. It was all right, not a doubt of it. The parties proceeded and gossip dropped. One evening Minna, her brother, and Hans were to dine alone at the Hall. Signor Giuseppe, who had never entered the house nor exchanged a word with Marchmont, was left at home with Rhoda Hamilton, who, as has been said, was a fast friend of his, finding a never-failing delight in his society. Rhoda revelled in the stories which Signor Oriole, when he was in a communicative humour, would tell her.