"No? Dessay not. She doesn't go out much, and Lady Clansford thinks

it's rather a feather in her cap getting her here to-night. When you

see her you won't say I've over-praised her. She's more than pretty,

and she'd be the bright and particular star of the season if she didn't

keep in her shell so much."

"Herondale," said Howard, musingly. "That's the place near the Villa,

isn't it? I don't remember anyone of her name as having been amongst

the company there."

"No," said the omniscient Bertie. "She was living in retirement with

her father then; but Stafford must have known her--made her

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acquaintance. Don't you remember that she was present when poor Miss

Falconer met with her fatal accident?"

Howard remembered very well, but he said "Ah, yes!" as if the fact had

just been recalled to him.

"Her father died and left her a hatful of money--that's ever so many

months ago--and now she's come up to London; and I tell you, Howard,

that it is with her as it was with the friend of our school-boy days:

'I came, "I was seen," I conquered!' Everybody is mad about her. She is

staying with some country people called the Vaynes, people who would

have passed, like a third _entrée_, unnoticed; but they are deluged

with invitations, and 'All on account of Eliza.'"

"Do not be vulgar, Bertie," said Howard, rebukingly.

"Well it was vulgar" admitted Bertie, "especially applied to such an

exquisite creature as Miss Heron--Oh there she is with young Glarn!

They say that he is more than ready to lay his ducal coronet at her

feet--confound the young beggar!--but she doesn't give him the least

encouragement to do so. Look! she doesn't appear to be listening to

him, though he's talking for all he's worth. And it's the same with all

of us: we're all dying with love for her, and for all she cares, we may

die!"

Howard looked across the room and caught a glimpse of a tall, slim

figure, a pale, ivory-tinted face with soft and silky black hair,

dressed in the simplest fashion, and dark, violet eyes half hidden by

their long lashes. It was a lovely face and something more--an

impressive one: it was a face, once seen, not easily forgotten. Perhaps

it was not its beauty, but a certain preoccupied expression, a sadness

in the eyes and in the curve of the expressive lips, which made it so

haunting a one. She was exquisitely dressed, with a suggestion of

mourning in the absence of diamonds and a touch of pale violet in the

black lace frock.




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