Beyond the Rocks

And soon the party was complete, and Theodora found herself going in to

dinner with her cousin Pat, who arrived upon the scene at the very last

minute, having come from Oxford by a late train.

Mildred had taken care that neither Lord Wensleydown or Hector should be

anywhere near Theodora. She had secured Lord Bracondale for herself, and

did her best all through the repast to fascinate him.

And while he answered gallantly and paid her the grossest compliments,

she knew he was laughing in his sleeve all the time, and it made her

venom rise higher and higher.

Patrick Fitzgerald, the younger, was a dissipated, vicious youth, with

his mother's faded coloring and none of the Fitzgerald charm. How

infinitely her father surpassed any of the family she had seen yet,

Theodora thought.

She did not enjoy her dinner. The youth's conversation was not

interesting. But it was not until the ladies left the dining-room that

her real penance began.

It seemed as if all the women crowded to one end of the drawing-room

round Lady Harrowfield, and talked and whispered to one another, not one

making way for Theodora or showing any knowledge of her presence.

Barbara had gone off up to her room. She was too frightened of Mildred

to disobey her, and she felt she would rather not be there to see their

hateful ways to the dear, little, gentle cousin whom she thought she

could love so much.

Theodora subsided on a sofa, wondering to herself if these were the

manners of the great world in general. She hoped not; but although no

human creature could be quite happy under the circumstances, she was not

greatly distressed until she distinctly caught the name of "Mr. Brown"

from the woman Josiah had taken in amid a burst of laughter, and saw

Mildred, with a glance at her, ostentatiously suppress the speaker, who

then continued her narration in almost a whisper, amid mocking titters

of mirth.

Then anger burned in Theodora's gentle soul. They were talking about

Josiah, of course, and turning him into ridicule.

She wondered, what would be the best to do. She was too far away to

attempt to join in the conversation, or to be even able to swear she had

heard aright, although there was no doubt in her own mind about it.

So she sat perfectly still on her great sofa, her hands folded in her

lap, while two bright spots of wild rose flushed her cheeks.

She did not even pick up a book. There she sat like an alabaster statue,

and most of the women were conscious of the exquisitely beautiful

picture she made.