They are off together, happy in each other’s company. Sir Arthur is not married, and he thinks it just the thing to be seen about as much as possible in the company of one of London’s newest belles. Lady Manderton doesn’t care a rap for her husband, and is considerably bored that her husband evinces a certain amount of affection for her; she only married him for his money and position, and did not at all bargain for the affection part of the affair.
As for Vivi, after her friend is gone, she jumps up and rings for her maid. That important individual having made her appearance, she and Vivi are soon engrossed with the all-paramount question of the moment—dress. Half-a-dozen gowns are pulled out, put on, pulled off and discarded, until at length one appears to please more than the others.
“How do you think I look in this, Marie?” she inquires a little anxiously. “Is it becoming?”
“Mais, madame, c’est tout-à-fait charmante,” replies the well-drilled maid with an expression of admiration.
Vivi is satisfied. The gown remains on her person, and in a short time she is dressed and ready for her day’s outing. Twelve o’clock strikes. A neat brougham dashes up to the door. In less time almost than it takes to tell it, Vivi has taken her seat in the carriage, and is being whirled through the busy streets of London, en route to Captain Kilmarnock’s rooms. There she will pick him up, and together they will proceed to Maidenhead, what to do God knows. We had better leave them.
A few minutes later, and there is another ring at the door, and the footman opens it to Mr. de Lacy Trevor. As he does so, the latter inquires—
“Is Mrs. Trevor in?”
“No, sir, just gone out,” answers the servant.
“Do you know where to, James?” again asks Mr. Trevor.
“I do not, sir, but perhaps Mademoiselle Marie will know.”