"I always wear my hair like this in the country," she had said at lunch. "It is so much easier, and I'm really not old enough to paste it over my forehead and go in for a bun behind"--this with a glance at Lady Isabelle, which caused the Dowager Marchioness to exclaim, quite audibly, that it was scandalous for that young person--she was sure she had forgotten her name--to wear her hair as if she wasn't yet eighteen. Lady Isabelle, it may be remarked, could lay no claim to anything under twenty. But certainly in this case, the end justified the deed, and Miss Fitzgerald, rejuvenated, was one of the most simple, blithesome and gay young maidens that the sun shone on. Possibly this was the reason that she never saw or comprehended the meaning of Lady Isabelle's uplifted eyebrows and steely glare, as she drew up before the couple and violated the first rule of fair and open warfare by interrupting their tête-à-tête. "Well, Jimsy," she said, using a form of address that the rack would never have wrung from his companion, "How are you? Feeling fit?" He smiled uneasily, and, for the sake of saying something, since her Ladyship preserved an ominous silence, remarked: "There's no need of putting that question to you." "Rather not. Once I'm in the country, I'm as frisky as a young colt," she rattled on. "I'm going to have such fun with you and Kingsland, and I expect to be, as usual, quite spoiled. Now, how are you going to begin?" "Really," he faltered, rising in an access of agitation, for Lady Isabelle's expression was fearful to behold. "You shall run along with me to Mrs. Roberts," she continued, not giving him an opportunity to flounder, "and tell her that she must send us down to dinner together. Because you're a diplomat and will have a post of honour, and the butler has given me the tip that we're to have just one round of '80 champagne before the dessert, and you know we really must have the first of the bottle, there is sure to be sediment farther down." "You must excuse me, but you see-- Lady Isabelle," and he indicated that stony personage. "Oh, I beg Lady Isabelle's pardon--it was so dark I didn't see her!" she cried in a fit of demure shyness, and added--"If I have said anything indiscreet, do explain it, there's a dear, good Jimsy." "It's not necessary," came the icy tones of his companion. "I shouldn't think of keeping you, Mr. Stanley, from such congenial society." "At least, let me escort you to the drawing-room." "Don't trouble yourself, I beg. I dare say I shall find some people there who are contented to wait till their proper precedence has been allotted to them," and she turned away. "Oh, yes," the irrepressible Belle called after her. "I just sent Kingsland up there. He's been showing me bank notes in the billiard-room. I thought I'd never get rid of him." If her Ladyship heard this information she betrayed no sign of the fact, and Miss Fitzgerald returned to more congenial fields.