"'Tain't money that's got anything to do with Keith Athelstone's popularity," answers Mrs. Woollffe sharply. "He's just one of the nicest young fellows I've ever known, and people don't take long to find that out. His manners are perfect. He can dress like a gentleman without looking a fop. He's plenty to say and says it well, and he's most uncommonly good-looking. Ain't that enough to make a young man run after?" "Still," says Mrs. Douglas sweetly, "if he had no money, Society would turn its back on him to-morrow." "Society?" echoes Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffe. "I guess you mean the mothers in society. I've my own opinion about the gals." "Does he--does he seem to care about any woman in particular?" asks Mrs. Douglas. "I suppose he means to marry and settle down now." "Guess he don't," says Mrs. Woollffe. "Likes to be free, so he says, and quite right too." "Then there is no one--no girl--he pays attention to," persists Mrs. Douglas determinedly. Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffe looks at her with aroused curiosity, and a faint smile comes to her lips. "Oh, yes, there is _some one_ he pays great attention to," she says, slowly and distinctly, "but no girl as you say--she is a married woman." CHAPTER VII The season rolls on with Fashion tied to its wheels. Society is on its treadmill once more, hard at work and calling it pleasure. To young Lady Vavasour, courted and admired as she is, the life seems to have grown ineffably wearisome. All around her now is gorgeous, restless, insatiable. She plays her own part amidst it all, and finds an endless monotony about it. The glare, the fever, the unrest, oppress her with a vague wonder and an inward contempt, for those who live in it and for it alone, and misname the craving for false excitement--pleasure. She has seen very little of her husband this season. He has his own engagements and occupations--she hers. Lauraine feels often very lonely and very sad. The total want of sympathy between Sir Francis and herself becomes more and more apparent, and she knows very well that among all her host of acquaintances there is not one whom she can really count as a friend--except, perhaps, Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffe.