Aminta, on hearing the name of Cuper a second time, congratulated herself on the happy invention of her pretext to keep Mrs. Pagnell from the table at midday.  Her aunt had a memory for names:  what might she not have exclaimed!  There would have been little in it, but it was as well that the ‘boy of the name of Weyburn’ at Cuper’s should be unmentioned.  By an exaggeration peculiar to a disgust in fancy, she could hear her aunt vociferating ‘Weyburn!’ and then staring at Mr. Weyburn opposite—­perhaps not satisfied with staring.

He withdrew after his usual hearty meal, during which his talk of boys and their monkey tricks, and what we can train them to, had been pleasant generally, especially to Mrs. Lawrence.  Aminta was carried back to the minute early years at High Brent.  A line or two of a smile touched her cheek.

’Yes, my dear countess, that is the face I want for Lady de Culme to-day,’ said Mrs. Lawrence.’  She likes a smiling face.  Aunty—­aunty has always been good; she has never been prim.  I was too much for her, until I reflected that she was very old, and deserved to know the truth before she left us; and so I went to her; and then she said she wished to see the Countess of Ormont, because of her being my dearest friend.  I fancy she entertains an ‘arriere’ idea of proposing her flawless niece Gracey, Marchioness of Fencaster, to present you.  She ’s quite equal to the fatigue herself.  You ’ll rejoice in her anecdotes.  People were virtuous in past days:  they counted their sinners.  In those days, too, as I have to understand, the men chivalrously bore the blame, though the women were rightly punished.  Now, alas! the initiative is with the women, and men are not asked for chivalry.  Hence it languishes.  Lady de Culme won’t hear of the Queen of Blondes; has forbidden her these many years!’

Lord Ormont, to whom the lady’s prattle was addressed, kept his visage moveless, except in slight jerks of the brows.

‘What queen?’

’You insist upon renewing my old, old pangs of jealousy, my dear lord!  The Queen of Cyprus, they called her, in the last generation; she fights our great duellist handsomely.’

‘My dear Mrs. Lawrence!’

‘He triumphs finally, we know, but she beats him every round.’

’It ‘s only tattle that says the duel has begun.’

’May is the month of everlasting beauty!  There ’s a widower marquis now who claims the right to cast the glove to any who dispute it.’

‘Mrs. May is too good-looking to escape from scandal.’

‘Amy May has the good looks of the Immortals.’

‘She can’t be thirty.’

‘In the calendar of women she counts thirty-four.’

‘Malignity!  Her husband’s a lucky man.’

‘The shots have proved it.’

Lord Ormont nodded his head over the hopeless task of defending a woman from a woman, and their sharp interchange ceased.  But the sight of his complacency in defeat told Aminta that he did not respect his fair client:  it drew a sketch of the position he allotted his wife before the world side by side with this Mrs. Amy May, though a Lady de Culme was persuaded to draw distinctions.