“You did. You swore—but why waste breath? You have no heart. You never had. But let me tell you this, my Lord—this smooth-faced little devil is my abhorrence. She hath pushed me down on the stage. Do you think I didn’t see that all the world looked at her tonight and I was but her foil? She has made a fool of Rich, of Gay, of Walker—of all the persons who could advance or help me. If I could ruin her this minute and drag her in the dirt with a wish, I would do it. Some day I _will_ do it, though she be a duchess’s favourite, and a nobleman’s——” She spit out the hateful word and made to thrust by him. He caught her hand as she past and stared in her face. “And some day you _may_ do it, my girl!” said he. Then released her and walked back with his easy languid step to the stage. When Diana’s chair set her down at Queensbury House, the Duchess, the Duke, and Bolton were assembled in the library, and Pompey summoned her to an audience. The excitement of the night had passed off and her lovely brow was sweetly serene as she entered. She was much more at her ease with the imperious Kitty now, having received much kindness from her and understanding her moods perhaps better than did any other creature. For others made her Grace a goddess and when that is done a goddess the lady will be. But Diana met her with a cheerful and grateful simplicity and a warm sunshine of affection tempered with the awe due to such commanding rank and power. ’Twas human—that sums it up, and the proud Duchess sought the poor player’s company in odd hours, would have her sing for her, read to her while she worked her jonquils, and let some crumbs of sincere liking fall from her high table to this humble dependent. For so she considered her as yet. “Come hither, my Polly, my charming Polly, that has made Gay Rich and Rich Gay,” she cried, with her loud hearty laugh. “Why, what don’t I and all the world owe to you for this success? The town is run mad over you—’Tis Polly, Polly on every tongue, and Mr. Gay is gone to bed perfectly exhausted with plaudits and triumph. Not but what the piece is supreme. There is not its like in the English language. It hath a French sparkle and—but I rave, and what I would say is that with another Polly it could not so have smote the heart however it dazzled the brain. What say you, Queensbury?” The Duke, good easy man, would say nothing but what his wife said. “My dear, you are ever in the right. A more bewitching Polly couldn’t be imagined. In every scene Mrs. Diana triumphed. My felicitations attend you, Madam. But won’t you come with me one moment, my dear, to the next room, for sure you forget you desired Mr. Rich’s company to drink a bumper to our success, and the little gift is prepared there that you would honour him with.” The Duchess ran off like a girl. “Wait till I come back, Mrs. Di. ’Twon’t be long first.”