And so, as yet, she had made no acquaintances, and now that she had been married eight months and had come to London, the same old story repeated itself. People called on her in the afternoon just at the time when she went out driving,--when she returned their visits, she, in her turn, found them absent. She did not as yet understand the mystery of having "a day" on which to receive visitors in shoals--a day on which to drink unlimited tea, talk platitudes, and utterly bored and exhausted at the end thereof--in fact, she did not see the necessity of knowing many people,--her husband was all-sufficient for her,--to be in his society was all she cared for. She left her card at different houses because he told her to do so, but this social duty amused her immensely.

"It is like a game!" she declared, laughing, "some one comes and leaves these little cards which explain who they are, on me,--then I go and leave my little cards and yours, explaining who we are on that some one--and we keep on doing this, yet we never see each other by any chance! It is so droll!"

Errington did not feel called upon to explain what was really the fact,--namely, that none of the ladies who had left cards on his wife had given her the option of their "at home" day on which to call,--he did not think it necessary to tell her what he knew very well, that his "set," both in county and town, had resolved to "snub" her in every petty fashion they could devise,--that he had already received several invitations which, as they did not include her, he had left unanswered,--and that the only house to which she had as yet been really asked in proper form was that of Lady Winsleigh. He was more amused than vexed at the resolute stand made by the so-called "leaders" of society against her, knowing as he did, most thoroughly, how she must conquer them all in the end. She had been seen nowhere as yet but in the Park, and Philip had good reason to be contented with the excitement her presence had created there,--but he was a little astonished at Lady Winsleigh's being the first to extend a formal welcome to his unknown bride. Her behavior seemed to him a little suspicious,--for he certainly could not disguise from himself that she had at one time been most violently and recklessly in love with him. He recollected one or two most painful scenes he had had with her, in which he had endeavored to recall her to a sense of the duty she owed to her husband,--and his face often flushed with vexation when he thought of her wild and wicked abandonment of despair, her tears, her passion, and distracted, dishonoring words. Yet she was the very woman who now came forward in the very front of society to receive his wife!--he could not quite understand it. After all, he was a man,--and the sundry artful tricks and wiles of fashionable ladies were, naturally, beyond him. Thelma had never met Lady Winsleigh--not even for a passing glance in the Park,--and when she received the invitation for the grand reception at Winsleigh House, she accepted it, because her husband wished her so to do, not that she herself anticipated any particular pleasure from it. When the day came round at last she scarcely thought of it, till at the close of their pleasant breakfast tête-à-tête described at the commencement of this chapter, Philip suddenly said,--"By-the-by, Thelma, I have sent to the bank for the Errington diamonds. They'll be here presently. I want you to wear them to-night."




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