Georgie had looked up with an angry beautiful flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes, which Mrs. Hammond could not have managed by any contrivance to excel. But when she saw the look that was fixed on her, her eyes fell, and she covered her face with her hands. It was not a bold glance; it was quiet, powerful, and pitying--pitying from Dollamore's point of view, not of her grief, but of her "greenness." "She _can_, and she _has_, Lady Mitford; but it will be your own fault, and a very silly fault too, if she has that power much longer. Look the truth in the face; don't be afraid of it. You have lost Mitford's affections, I suppose you will say; and there never was any one so miserable; and so forth. It's quite a mistake. Mitford never had any affections--he had, and has, passions; and they will be won and lost many and many a time, long after you will have ceased even to notice in what direction they may happen to be straying. Because your reign was short, you fancy Mrs. Hammond's will be eternal. Pooh! It will come to a timely end with the beginning of the opera-season; and nothing will remain to her of it but a rent in her reputation--which even that endurable material will hardly bear--and much mortification. Your reign is over, as you believe; and we will grant, for the sake of argument, that you are right. Well, what remains to you after this terrible imaginary bereavement of Mitford's affections? Why, Mitford's fortune, Mitford's rank, and a position which, if you were under his influence, might very possibly come to grief; but which you, free and blameless,--a very pleasant combination, let me tell you, and one that many a woman would gladly purchase at the price of a little sentimental blighting,--will elevate and dignify. If you will only realize your position, Lady Mitford, and act with good sense, you will have as brilliant a destiny before you as any woman not afflicted with a mission could possibly desire." The dream she had dreamed--the home-life her fancy had pictured--came back in a moment to Georgie's mental vision; and she said, in a tone of keen distress: "Don't say these things, Lord Dollamore. I know you don't mean them; but they sound cold and wicked. How could I care for any position? and what is wealth to me?" "Pretty much what it is to every rational being, Lady Mitford--happiness; or if not quite the real sterling thing, the very best plated or paste imitation of it procurable in this state of existence. But you have not only wealth, rank, position, and a career of fashion and pleasure to look forward to; there are other things in your future. Think of your youth, estimate your beauty;--stay--no, you cannot do that; you never could conceive the effect it must produce on men who are gentlemen and have taste. If you ever learn to use its full power, you will be as dangerous as Helen or Cleopatra."