The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. Spurling; "they're both here. “I wonder!” said Miss Stanley. Her answer was not quite ready. Eric Vorsack still toiled at work. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. “Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. “You, too,” he said abruptly. I hope this is all.
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