Lord Selbie?--Lord Selbie? Nell worried her memory in vain. She had read

extracts from the Fashion Gazette so often, the aristocratic names had

passed out of her mind almost before she had pronounced them, and it was

not surprising that she should fail to recall this Lord Selbie's.

She had not much time or opportunity for reflection, for the other

guests were arriving, and the party was almost complete. As she stood a

little apart, she noticed the dresses, and smiled as she felt how

incapable she would be of describing their magnificence to mamma. It was

her first big dinner party, and she was amused and interested in

watching the brilliant groups, and in listening to the small talk.

Lady Wolfer's clear voice could be heard distinctly; but though she

talked and laughed with apparent ease and freedom, Nell fancied that her

ladyship was not quite at her ease, that there was something forced in

her gayety, and that her laugh now and again rang false. Nell saw, too,

that Lady Wolfer's glance wandered from time to time to the door, as if

she were waiting for some one.

The earl came up to Nell.

"Are we all here? It is late," he said, in his grave way, and glancing

at the clock.

Nell looked around and counted.

"One more," she said, in as low a tone. As she spoke, the door opened,

and Sir Archie Walbrooke entered.

Nell heard Lady Wolfer hesitate in the middle of a sentence, and saw her

turn away, with her back to the door.

Sir Archie came across the room in his usual deliberate fashion, as

self-possessed and impassive as if he were quite ignorant that he had

kept a roomful of people waiting.

Lady Wolfer gave him her hand without breaking off her conversation with

the prime minister, who was chatting and laughing with the carelessness

of a boy, and as if he had never even heard of a ministerial crisis.

"Afraid I'm late," said Sir Archie, in slow and even tones. "Cab horse

fell down--nearly always does when I'm behind one. Strange."

"I will hand your excuse to the cook," said Lady Wolfer. "I hope he will

believe it. None of us do, I assure you."

The butler announced dinner, and the party coupled and filed in, the

earl taking a dowager duchess, a good-natured lady with an obvious wig

and cheeks which blushed--with rouge--like unto those of a dairymaid.

Nell fell to the lot of an undersecretary for the colonies, who was so

great a favorite of the prime minister's that no one dreamed of asking

the great man without sending an invitation to his friend, who was

generally known as "Sir Charles." Like most clever men, he was

simplicity itself, and he watched Nell through his pince-nez as she

surveyed the brilliant line of guests round the long, oblong table, with

an interest in her interest.




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