She fairly carried Mary Blanchet out of the dressing-room, along a corridor lined with seats, on which people who had been in the drawing-room and had come out, were chattering, and flirting, and lounging--and at last over the threshold of the drawing-room, and into the presence of the hostess. A few friendly words were got through, and Minola dragged her companion along through the crowd into the recess formed by a window where there were some unoccupied seats. "Now, Mary, that's done. The plunge is made, dear! We are in society! Let us sit down here--and look at it." "This," said Mary faintly--"this, at last, is society." "I suppose it is, dear. At least it will do very well for you and me. We should never know any difference. Imagine all these people marquises and countesses, and what more can we want to make us happy? They may be marquises and countesses for all I know." "I should think there must be some great poets, and authors, and artists, Minola. I am sure there must be. Oh, there is my brother!" In effect Mr. Herbert Blanchet had already fixed his dark eyes on Minola, and was making his way up to her retreat, rather to Minola's distress. He addressed Minola at once with that undefinable manner of easy and kindly superiority which he always adopted toward women, and which, it must be owned, impressed some women a great deal. To his sister he held out, while hardly looking at her, an encouraging hand of recognition. "Have you seen Delavar's picture?" he asked Minola. "No. Who is Delavar?" "Delavar? He _was_ the greatest painter of our time--at least of his school; for I don't admit that his school is the true one." "Oh, is his picture here?" "In the other room--yes. He painted it for Mr. Money--for Mrs. Money rather I should say--and it has just been sent home. Come with me and I will show it to you." "And Mary?" "We'll come back for Mary presently. The rooms are too full. We couldn't all get through. If you'll take my arm, Miss Grey!"