Memories rolled in upon her still. Willingly, Hester paused longer over those which had been proud or pleasant hours. She conjured up delightful evenings in London. Was it indeed she who was attending it seemed but yesterday the Duchess of Rutland's ball? Before leaving Downing Street, she had gone to find her uncle, William Pitt, in his study. While he was finishing the signing of a paper, she arranged before a mirror the folds of her gown, of white satin draped in the antique fashion which blended with her snow-white shoulders. Suddenly she perceived that the Minister's attentive eye was following her movements. "Really, Hester," said he, "you are going to make conquests this evening, but would it be too presumptuous to suggest to you that this fold ought to be caught up by a loop? There! like this. What do you think about it?" And his taste was so delicate, that he had found instinctively what was required to complete the classic form of the drapery. What a crowd at the duchess's! The heads all touched one another like the necks of bottles emerging from a basket. And what long faces! Ah! it is that English society was prodigiously bored. Boredom, that pastime of old peoples rotted by civilisation, reigned as master and triumphed hardly over the conventions. The French _émigrés_ had brought with them, in the perfume of their yellowed lace and in the flash of their last jewels, the precious remains of a frivolity and of a grace which were at the point of death. The spirit of France had been for the lymphatic coldness of the English what condiments are for boiled beef: a stimulant to the appetite. Scandal was on the watch and morals were dissolute. But the wits of these haughty ladies had been sharpened, and all their intrigues were carried on slyly, clandestinely. Against the rigid and narrow Puritanism, against the redoubtable spirit of cant, imagination and fancy struggled without hope of victory. The façade, that was what mattered! So much the worse if the interior of the building were used as a stable. Only, hypocrisy being like the veronal which prolongs the torpor of surfeited and jaded societies, England continued to govern royally. Extravagance and dandyism were required to cheer her up. And how welcome on the occasion of some dreary social function was the arrival of a Hester Stanhope or of a George Brummel! Lady Hester recalled her entry into the ball-room with Lord Camelford, her beloved cousin--a true Pitt, that man! And what an entry. Both were of extraordinary stature; the women had not enough smiles for him, the men not enough eyes for her. A long flattering murmur accompanied them. "Have you seen Lord Camelford?" twittered the ladies. "Well, it appears that he blew out the brains of his lieutenant one day that a mutiny threatened to break out aboard his ship, and that quite coolly, just as I am speaking to you." "Oh! my dear, you make me shiver."