‘You shall call me Jack for old sake’s sake,’ said Hartfield, tenderly.

‘How did you think of such a name as Jack?’

’Rather an effort of genius, wasn’t it.  Well, first and foremost I was christened Ronald John—­all the Hollisters are christened John—­name of the founder of the race; and, secondly, Maulevrier and I were always plain Mr. Morland and Mr. Hammond in our travels, and always called each other Jack and Jim.’

‘How nice!’ said Mary; ’would you very much mind our being plain Mr. and Mrs. Hammond, while we are on our honeymoon trip?’

‘I should like it of all things.’

’So should I. People will not take so much notice of us, and we can do what we like, and go where we like.’

’Delightful!  We’ll even disguise ourselves as Cook’s tourists, if you like.  I would not mind.’

They were at the door of Lady Maulevrier’s sitting room by this time.  They went in, and were greeted with smiles.

’Let me look at the Countess of Hartfield that is to be in half an hour,’ said her ladyship.  ’Oh, Mary, Mary, what a blind idiot I have been, and what a lucky girl you are!  I told you once that you were wiser than Lesbia, but I little thought how much wiser you had been.’

CHAPTER XXXIV.

‘OUR LOVE WAS NEW, AND THEN BUT IN THE SPRING.’

Henley Regatta was over.  It had passed like a tale that is told; like Epsom and Ascot, and all the other glories of the London season.  Happy those for whom the glory of Henley, the grace of Ascot, the fever of Epsom, are not as weary as a twice-told tale, bringing with them only bitterest memories of youth that has fled, of hopes that have withered, of day-dreams that have never been realised.  There are some to whom that mad hastening from pleasure to pleasure, that rush from scene to scene of excitement, that eager crowding into one day and night of gaieties which might fairly relieve the placid monotony of a month’s domesticity, a month’s professional work—­some there are to whom this Vanity Fair is as a treadmill or the turning of a crank, the felon’s deepest humiliation, purposeless, unprofitable, labour.

The regatta was over, and Lady Kirkbank and her charge hastened back to Arlington Street.  Theirs was the very first departure; albeit Mr. Smithson pleaded hard for a prolongation of their visit.  The weather was exceptionally lovely, he urged.  Water picnics were delightful just now—­the banks were alive with the colour of innumerable wild flowers, as beautiful and more poetical than the gorgeous flora of the Amazon or the Paraguay river.  And Lady Lesbia had developed a genius for punting; and leaning against her pole, with her hair flying loose and sleeves rolled up above the elbow, she was a subject for canvas or marble, Millais or Adams Acton.