One morning early in June Lady Laura called at Lady Baldock’s house and asked for Miss Effingham. The servant was showing her into the large drawing-room, when she again asked specially for Miss Effingham. “I think Miss Effingham is there,” said the man, opening the door. Miss Effingham was not there. Lady Baldock was sitting all alone, and Lady Laura perceived that she had been caught in the net which she specially wished to avoid. Now Lady Baldock had not actually or openly quarrelled with Lady Laura Kennedy or with Lord Brentford, but she had conceived a strong idea that her niece Violet was countenanced in all improprieties by the Standish family generally, and that therefore the Standish family was to be regarded as a family of enemies. There was doubtless in her mind considerable confusion on the subject, for she did not know whether Lord Chiltern or Mr Finn was the suitor whom she most feared — and she was aware, after a sort of muddled fashion, that the claims of these two wicked young men were antagonistic to each other. But they were both regarded by her as emanations from the same source of iniquity, and, therefore, without going deeply into the machinations of Lady Laura — without resolving whether Lady Laura was injuring her by pressing her brother as a suitor upon Miss Effingham, or by pressing a rival of her brother — still she became aware that it was her duty to turn a cold shoulder on those two houses in Portman Square and Grosvenor Place. But her difficulties in doing this were very great, and it may be said that Lady Baldock was placed in an unjust and cruel position. Before the end of May she had proposed to leave London, and to take her daughter and Violet down to Baddingham — or to Brighton, if they preferred it, or to Switzerland. “Brighton in June!” Violet had exclaimed. “Would not a month among the glaciers be delightful!” Miss Boreham had said. “Don’t let me keep you in town, aunt,” Violet replied; “but I do not think I shall go till other people go. I can have a room at Laura Kennedy’s house.” Then Lady Baldock, whose position was hard and cruel, resolved that she would stay in town. Here she had in her hands a ward over whom she had no positive power, and yet in respect to whom her duty was imperative! Her duty was imperative, and Lady Baldock was not the woman to neglect her duty — and yet she knew that the doing of her duty would all be in vain. Violet would marry a shoeblack out of the streets if she were so minded. It was of no use that the poor lady had provided herself with two strings, two most excellent strings, to her bow — two strings either one of which should have contented Miss Effingham. There was Lord Fawn, a young peer, not very rich indeed — but still with means sufficient for a wife, a rising man, and in every way respectable, although a Whig. And there was Mr Appledom, one of the richest commoners in England, a fine Conservative too, with a seat in the House, and everything appropriate. He was fifty, but looked hardly more than thirty-five, and was — so at least Lady Baldock frequently asserted — violently in love with Violet Effingham. Why had not the law, or the executors, or the Lord Chancellor, or some power levied for the protection of the proprieties, made Violet absolutely subject to her guardian till she should be made subject to a husband?

“Yes, I think she is at home,” said Lady Baldock, in answer to Lady Laura’s inquiry for Violet. “At least, I hardly know. She seldom tells me what she means to do — and sometimes she will walk out quite alone!” A most imprudent old woman was Lady Baldock, always opening her hand to her adversaries, unable to control herself in the scolding of people, either before their faces or behind their backs, even at moments in which such scolding was most injurious to her own cause. “However, we will see,” she continued. Then the bell was rung, and in a few minutes Violet was in the room. In a few minutes more they were upstairs together in Violet’s own room, in spite of the openly-displayed wrath of Lady Baldock. “I almost wish she had never been born,” said Lady Baldock to her daughter. “Oh, mamma, don’t say that.” I certainly do wish that I had never seen her.” “Indeed she has been a grievous trouble to you, mamma,” said Miss Boreham, sympathetically.

“Brighton! What nonsense!” said Lady Laura.

“Of course it’s nonsense. Fancy going to Brighton! And then they have proposed Switzerland. If you could only hear Augusta talking in rapture of a month among the glaciers! And I feel so ungrateful. I believe they would spend three months with me at any horrible place that I could suggest — at Hong Kong if I were to ask it — so intent are they on taking me away from metropolitan danger.”

“But you will not go?”

“No! — I won’t go. I know I am very naughty; but I can’t help feeling that I cannot be good without being a fool at the same time. I must either fight my aunt, or give way to her. If I were to yield, what a life I should have — and I should despise myself after all.”

“And what is the special danger to be feared now?”

“I don’t know — you, I fancy. I told her that if she went, I should go to you. I knew that would make her stay.”

“I wish you would come to me,” said Lady Laura.

“I shouldn’t think of it really — not for any length of time.”

“Why not?”

“Because I should be in Mr Kennedy’s way.”

“You wouldn’t be in his way in the least. If you would only be down punctually for morning prayers, and go to church with him on Sunday afternoon, he would be delighted to have you.”

“What did he say about Madame Max coming?”

“Not a word. I don’t think he quite knew who she was then. I fancy he has inquired since, by something he said yesterday.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing that matters — only a word. I haven’t come here to talk about Madame Max Goesler — nor yet about Mr Kennedy.”

“Whom have you come to talk about?” asked Violet, laughing a little, with something of increased colour in her cheeks, though she could not be said to blush.

“A lover of course,” said Lady Laura.

“I wish you would leave me alone with my lov............