Mrs. Mallory would have despaired, if she had not taken comfort in the idea that Sebastian liked to conceal his feelings from her, which argued that perhaps he cherished a secret passion for Helena, and would do as he ought to do, if he were let alone. Her fears as to the influence of Adrienne Blisset were fitful and intermittent. Sometimes that adventuress did not particularly disturb her mental peace, but at other moments a dread fear seized her lest the game should be going in the very direction she least wished it to take; lest the obstacle which interfered with her plans and wishes was not Sebastian’s utter and unaccountable indifference to beauty, love, and a hundred thousand pounds, but a misguided, infatuated inclination on his part, for a daughter of Heth, with neither beauty (compared with Helena) nor pretensions. When attacked by such thoughts, Mrs. Mallory felt herself turn cold and numb with fear. The idea of Adrienne Blisset promoted to her place was the most thoroughly unpleasant--not to say altogether hideous--that had ever occurred to her. On the morning in question, Sebastian, on being asked what his plans were, said he should be in his office all morning, and at a committee meeting in the afternoon. Would he be in to lunch at half-past one? Yes, he fully expected so; and with that, he said good morning, and went away. The others went their several ways. Hugo retired to the drawing-room, to a packet of new transcendental German music, and to the spinning out certain music of his own. Mrs. Mallory, after an interview with her housekeeper, ordered her carriage for half-past eleven, wrote letters in the breakfast-room till that time, and then got ready and drove out in the said carriage. The proverbial ‘spectator might have seen’ the equipage go from one place to another in the town, and afterwards to certain mansions in the vicinity of the same, where its mistress made state calls. (It was the fashion in Thanshope to make state calls in full dress between twelve and one.) It was quite half-past one when Mrs. Mallory forsook the war-path, and returning home, came into the dining-room. She sat down to lunch without removing her bonnet. She was dressed in her favourite lavender and black, and so attired, with a new and unusual expression of animation and amiability upon her high fair features, she looked a very handsome, agreeable, though rather thin-lipped English matron. The gong sounded. First Hugo strolled in, and raised his dark eyes in astonishment when the lady graciously and sweetly inquired, ‘May I give you some soup, Mr. von Birkenau?’ ‘No, thank you,’ he replied, politely but tentatively. ‘How warm it is, is it not? So unlike the end of May. May is generally such a bad month in England; don’t you think so?’ ‘You should know best,’ said Hugo, bowing solemnly, and somewhat nervous under this excessive amiability.