But no consciousness of beauty could have made that dinner-party other than a wretched ordeal to the young wife. The faces of twelve strangers whom she had never seen previously, swam before her. Thirty eyes were always, as she imagined, riveted on her. If Mr. Stondon would only have let her alone; if he had only not tried to make her talk; if the servants could only have believed that she was not famishing, and that she did not want a glass of wine every other minute; if the light had not been so strong; if the room had not been so close; if everything had been different, Phemie thought she could have managed better: as it was, she envied Mrs. Stondon, she envied the servants, she envied every person and any person who knew what was what, and she envied, beyond all other persons, a young lady who, owing to there being seven on a side, sat next to her, and whose composure filled Phemie with the most intense admiration, not to say awe. If she had upset her wine, if she had spilled her soup, if she had taken mint sauce with duck, if she had kept the whole table waiting, if she had answered without being spoken to, if she had dropped her fork, if she had appropriated her neighbour’s bread, that wonderful woman would have shown no more sign of embarrassment than if she had done everything decently and in order. Talking to a gentleman on her right hand, she let a morsel of chicken fall from her fork, and the misadventure made Phemie feel as though she had committed some sin herself. “That was a great disappointment,” remarked the culprit to her, with a charming smile, and then straightway she observed to her other neighbour, “which shows people should not try to do two things at once.” “If I could learn to be like her,” thought Phemie, jealously, “I should not mind paying a thousand pounds, supposing I had the money.” Have patience, child, have patience—Rome was not built in a day. If the gift be so valuable, rest content, for it will come to you yet; if ease of manner and indifference to the opinions of others be possessions worth coveting, rest satisfied, for in the years now before you all diffidence will vanish and fade away, and you shall care no more for speaking to a countess than you ever did to a farmer’s wife in Tordale.