"That was a queer thing too," says Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffe eagerly. "Never could make head or tail of it. Lady Jean was kind of mixed up in that duel, wasn't she?" "Really," says Mrs. Douglas, with her most stately air, "I must decline to say anything about that woman. Her conduct has been quite too disgraceful. Quite." "Her conduct was no better or worse, that I can see, when her husband was alive," answers Mrs. Woollffe. "She was always bad, though, of course, no one could see it until Joel Salomans had lost all his money. I've never heard a good word of her since." Mrs. Douglas looks uncomfortable. "Of course, as long as society is not publicly outraged, as long as there is some show of decency, it puts up with a great deal; but when any one is imprudent enough to over-step the boundary mark, that alters the case." "Of course," agrees Mrs. Woollffe, with a smile. "It's only natural to wink at what suits our convenience. I wonder why Lady Jean has never come to London again since she married that foreigner, Count----what's his name?" "Count Karolyski. I don't know, I'm sure, But I think it is just as well. No one in her old set could possibly receive her." "Well, your English society beats me!" exclaims Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffe. "Guess you're the rummest lot of people on the face of creation. What--you're not going?" "Yes, I must. It is Lady Etwynde Carlisle's day, you know; and I want to look in and hear some later news of my child. She corresponds so constantly with her friend. Of course, it is only natural." "Old cat," murmurs Mrs. Woollffe, as the satin skirts trail away in the distance. "You could not blackguard your daughter enough once, and now it's 'dear child,' and 'dear Keith.' Ugh! I've no patience with such humbug. Ah, there is Nan and her husband. Nan, my dear, such news. Keith Athelstone is going to marry, and whom do you think?" "Lady Vavasour, of course," answers the young Countess of Longleat quietly. "Why, you knew!" exclaims Mrs. Bradshaw Woollffe, disappointed. "I didn't; I only guessed. I always thought it would come to that. Poor Keith!" She sighs, and the radiant eyes grow a little dim. A vision of the handsome face and figure of the man who had been her girlish hero rises suddenly before her; in contrast to them she sees the red hair and burly frame of her own lord and master. "Well, fretting's no good," she says, with a little laugh at the contrast. "I was awfully fond of Keith, and I do hope he'll be happy at last. He's had a long spell of--the other thing." And meanwhile where is the prime mover in the plot that was to ruin Lauraine's happiness--that was to have been a scheme of vengeance perfect as woman's malice and skill could make it? The world of society, of fashion--the world which she delights in, and has delighted--knows Lady Jean no more.