Aldebert wins the race; but to Lauraine everything seems confused and indistinct, and in comparison with Lady Jean's excitement and delight at Sir Francis' success, her own manner seems strangely cold and unconcerned. Amidst the hubbub and excitement, the noise of voices and shouts of congratulation, Keith bends nearer to Lauraine. "I have some news that will please you, I hope," he says. "I am going to marry Nan, as you advised me." For one startled instant Lauraine is quite unable to speak or move. She feels the hot blood surging to her brain; she turns dizzy and faint. But the importance of self-command is present to her mind. She forces herself to appear as little moved as possible. Her voice is perfectly calm as she says: "I am glad to hear it. Pray accept my congratulations." And then Sir Francis joins them, and there are more congratulations and a great deal of noise and excitement, and Mrs. Bradshaw Woollffe and her party leave the stand and go down to the pretty racecourse, and Lauraine sees Keith by the side of Miss Anastasia J. Jefferson, and wonders is she dreaming--is all this real? For her the gay scene is altogether dull and wearisome. Turn where she will, look where she may, she only sees that haggard young face, only hears the shrill, ringing laugh of the pretty American, whom every one calls "Dresden China," and who looks like a dainty little Watteau shepherdess in her flowered silk costume and big hat, and piled up sunny curls. Long before the close of that day the news is on every tongue. The young millionaire is going to marry "Dresden China," and Lady Jean looks maliciously at Lauraine, and laughs and nods her head mysteriously, saying she'll believe it when she sees it. "Too sudden to be much good," she says, as they discuss the event that evening at dinner. "Though she's been spoons on him for ever so long." "She's awfully pretty," remarks Sir Francis. "Why shouldn't he care for her?" "No reason why he shouldn't. I only say he doesn't," answers Lady Jean. "So much the better," says an _attaché_ to the Austrian Legation, who makes one of the party. "Love matches are a mistake. Never yet knew one turn out well." "Poor Keith," says Lady Jean. "Fancy tied to those dreadful people. Her father sold rum and molasses, didn't he, in New Orleans; and she says 'guess,' and 'spry,' and 'cunning.' And then the aunt." "I don't think their colloquialisms are worse than our slang," says Lauraine coldly. "Oh, I know you are enthusiastic on American subjects," says Lady Jean meaningly. "I beg your pardon for my remarks." "There is no necessity," Lauraine answers, looking at her with calm surprise. "I know you dislike Mrs. Woollffe, and of course you are not bound to acknowledge her niece-- "As Mrs. Athelstone," interrupts Lady Jean. "No, I suppose not--only for Keith's sake----"