She looked forward to the day when Lesbia should reign supreme in the great world, a famous beauty and leader of fashion, her every act and word inspired and directed by her grandmother, who would be the shadow behind the throne.

It was possible--nay, probable--that in those days Lady Maulevrier would herself re-appear in society, establish her salon, and draw around her closing years all that is wittiest, best, and wisest in the great world.
Her ladyship was reposing in her low reading-chair, with a volume of Tyndall on the book-stand before her, when the door was opened softly and Lesbia came gliding in, and seated herself without a word on the hassock at her grandmother's feet.

Lady Maulevrier passed her hand caressingly over the girl's soft brown hair, without looking up from her book.
'You are a late visitor,' she said; 'why did you not come to me after breakfast ?' 'It was such a lovely morning, we went straight from the breakfast table to the garden; I did not think you wanted me.' 'I did not want you; but I am always glad to see my pet.

What were you doing in the garden all the morning?
I did not hear you playing tennis.' Lady Maulevrier had already interrogated the German governess upon this very subject, but she had her own reasons for wishing to hear Lesbia's account.
'No, it was too warm for tennis.

Fraeulein and I sat and worked, and Mr.
Hammond read to us.' 'What did he read ?' 'Heine's ballads.