“I am grateful; but, in truth, my gratitude has more to do with Courcy Castle and its habitual inmates, than with Lady Dumbello.  Is he here?”

“Oh, yes! he’s in the room somewhere.  There he is, standing up by Lady Clandidlem.  He always stands in that way before dinner.  In the evening he sits down much after the same fashion.”

Crosbie had seen him on first entering the room, and had seen every individual in it.  He knew better than to omit the duty of that scrutinising glance; but it sounded well in his line not to have observed Lord Dumbello.

“And her ladyship is not down?” said he.

“She is generally last,” said Lady Margaretta.

“And yet she has always three women to dress her,” said Alexandrina.

“But when finished, what a success it is!” said Crosbie.

“Indeed it is!” said Margaretta, with energy.  Then the door was opened, and Lady Dumbello entered the room.

There was immediately a commotion among them all.  Even the gouty old lord shuffled up out of his chair, and tried, with a grin, to look sweet and pleasant.  The countess came forward, looking very sweet and pleasant, making little complimentary speeches, to which the viscountess answered simply by a gracious smile.  Lady Clandidlem, though she was very fat and heavy, left the viscount, and got up to join the group.  Baron Potsneuf, a diplomatic German of great celebrity, crossed his hands upon his breast, and made a low bow.  The Honourable George, who had stood silent for the last quarter of an hour, suggested to her ladyship that she must have found the air rather cold; and the Ladies Margaretta and Alexandrina fluttered up with little complimentary speeches to their dear Lady Dumbello, hoping this and beseeching that, as though the “Woman in White” before them had been the dearest friend of their infancy.

She was a woman in white, being dressed in white silk, with white lace over it, and with no other jewels upon her person than diamonds.  Very beautifully she was dressed; doing infinite credit, no doubt, to those three artists who had, between them, succeeded in turning her out of hand.  And her face, also, was beautiful, with a certain cold, inexpressive beauty.  She walked up the room very slowly, smiling here and smiling there; but still with very faint smiles, and took the place which her hostess indicated to her.  One word she said to the countess and two to the earl.  Beyond that she did not open her lips.  All the homage paid to her she received as though it were clearly her due.  She was not in the least embarrassed, nor did she show herself to be in the slightest degree ashamed of her own silence.  She did not look like a fool, nor was she even taken for a fool; but she contributed nothing to society but her cold, hard beauty, her gait, and her dress.  We may say that she contributed enough, for society acknowledged itself to be deeply indebted to her.