“I'll take a bet upon the lady who has nearly extinguished
me, if you like,” answered Tremlet, gazing with admiration at
the calm, delicate, child-like looking creature, who sat before him
in the britsçka.

“No!” said the secretary, “for Almack's is a republic of
beauty, and she'll be voted in without either blood or virtue.
Par exémple, Lady Ravelgold's voucher is good here, though she
does study tableaux in Lothbury—eh, Tremlet?”

Totally unaware of the unlucky discovery by the fireworks at
Lady Roseberry's fête, Tremlet colored and was inclined to take
the insinuation as an affront; but a laugh from the dandies drew
off his companion's attention, and he observed the dowager's footman
standing at her coach window with his empty hands held up
in most expressive negation, while the three young ladies within
sat aghast, in all the agonies of disappointed hopes. The lumbering
carriage got into motion—its ineffective blazonry paled by
the mortified blush of its occupants—and, as the junior partner
drove away, philosophizing on the arbitrary opinions and unprovoked
insults of polite society, the britsçka shot by, showing him,
as he leaned forward, a lovely woman who bent on him the most
dangerous eyes in London, and an Almack's ticket lying on the
unoccupied cushion beside her.

The white relievo upon the pale blue wall of Almack's showed
every crack in its stucco flowers, and the faded chaperons who
had defects of a similar description to conceal, took warning of the
walls, and retreated to the friendlier dimness of the tea-room.
Collinet was beginning the second set of quadrilles, and among
the fairest of the surpassingly beautiful women who were moving
to his heavenly music, was Lady Imogen Ravelgold, the lovelier

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to-night for the first heavy sadness that had ever dimmed the
roses in her cheek. Her lady-mother divided her thoughts between
what this could mean, and whether Mr. Tremlet would
come to the ball; and when, presently after, in the dos-a-dos,
she forgot to look at her daughter, on seeing that gentleman enter,
she lost a very good opportunity for a guess at the cause of Lady
Imogen's paleness.

To the pure and true eye that appreciates the divinity of the
form after which woman is made, it would have been a glorious
feast to have seen the perfection of shape, color, motion, and
countenance, shown that night on the bright floor of Almack's.
For the young and beautiful girls whose envied destiny is to commence
their woman's history in this exclusive hall, there exists aids
to beauty known to no other class or nation. Perpetual vigilance
over every limb from the cradle up; physical education of a perfection,
discipline, and judgment, pursued only at great expense
and under great responsibility; moral education of the highest
kind, habitual consciousness of rank, exclusive contact with elegance
and luxury, and a freedom of intellectual culture which
breathes a soul through the face before passion has touched it with
a line or a shade—these are some of the circumstances which make
Almack's the eynosure of the world for adorable and radiant
beauty.

There were three ladies who had come to Almack's with a
definite object that night, each of whom was destined to be surprised
and foiled: Lady Ravelgold, who feared that she had been
abrupt with the inexperienced banker, but trusted to find him
softened by a day or two's reflection; Mrs. St. Leger, the lady of
the britsçka, who had ordered supper for two on her arrival at
home from her morning's drive, and intended to have the

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company of the handsome creature she had nearly run over in King
street; and Lady Imogen Ravelgold, as will appear in the
sequel.

Tremlet stood in the entrance from the tea-room, a moment,
gathering courage to walk alone into such a dazzling scene, and
then, having caught a glimpse of the glossy lines of Lady Imogen's
head at the farthest end of the room, he was advancing toward
her, when he was addressed by a lady who leaned against one of
the slender columns of the orchestra. After a sweetly-phrased
apology for having nearly knocked out his brains that morning
with her horses' fore feet, Mrs. St. Leger took his arm, and
walking deliberately two or three times up and down the room,
took possession, at last, of a banquette on the highest range, so far
from any other person, that it would have been a marked rudeness
to have left her alone. Tremlet took his seat by her with
this instinctive feeling, trusting that some of her acquaintances
would soon approach, and give him a fair excuse to leave her;
but he soon became amused with her piquant style of conversation,
and, not aware of being observed, fell into the attitude of
a pleased and earnest listener.

Lady Ravelgold's feelings during this petit entretien, were of a
very positive description. She had an instinctive knowledge, and
consequently a jealous dislike of Mrs. St. Leger's character;
and, still under the delusion that the young banker's liberality
was prompted by a secret passion for herself, she saw her credit
in the city and her hold upon the affections of Tremlet, (for whom
she had really conceived a violent affection,) melting away in
every smile of the dangerous woman who engrossed him. As she
looked around for a friend, to whose ear she might communicate
some of the suffocating poison in her own heart, Lady Imogen

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returned to her from a gallopade; and, like a second dagger into
the heart of the pure-minded girl, went this second proof of her
lover's corrupt principle and conduct. Unwilling to believe even
her own eyes, on the night of Lady Roseberry's fête, she had summoned
resolution on the road home to ask an explanation of her
mother. Embarrassed by the abrupt question, Lady Ravelgold
felt obliged to make a partial confidence of the state of her pecuniary
affairs; and, to clear herself, she represented Tremlet as
having taken advantage of her obligations to him, to push a dishonorable
suit. The scene disclosed by the sudden blaze of the
fireworks being thus simply explained, Lady Imogen determined
at once to give up Tremlet's acquaintance altogether; a resolution
which his open flirtation with a woman of Mrs. St. Leger's
character served to confirm. She had, however, one errand with
him, prompted by her filial feelings, and favored by an accidental
circumstance which will appear.

“Do you believe in animal magnetism?” asked Mrs. St.
Leger, “for by the fixedness of Lady Ravelgold's eyes in this
quarter, something is going to happen to one of us.”

The next moment the Russian secretary approached and took
his seat by Mrs. St. Leger, and with diplomatic address contrived
to convey to Tremlet's ear that Lady Ravelgold wished to speak
with him. The banker rose, but the quick wit of his companion
comprehended the manœuvre.

“Ah! I see how it is,” she said, “but stay—you'll sup with
me to-night. Promise me—parole d'honneur!”

“Parole!” answered Tremlet, making his way out between
the seats, half pleased and half embarrassed.

“As for you, Monsieur le Secretaire,' said Mrs. St. Leger,

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“you have forfeited my favor, and may sup elsewere. How dare
you conspire against me?”

While the Russian was making his peace, Tremlet crossed over
to Lady Ravelgold; but, astonished at the change in Lady
Imogen, he soon broke in abruptly upon her mother's conversation,
to ask her to dance. She accepted his hand for a quadrille;
but as they walked down the room in search of a vis-à-vis,
she complained of heat, and asked timidly if he would take her to
the tea-room.

“Mr. Tremlet,” she said, fixing her eyes upon the cup of tea
which he had given her, and which she found some difficulty in
holding, “I have come here to-night to communicate to you
some important information, to ask a favor, and to break off an
acquaintance which has lasted too long.”

Lady Imogen stopped, for the blood had fled from her lips, and
she was compelled to ask his arm for a support. She drew herself
up to her fullest height the next moment, looked at Tremlet,
who stood in speechless astonishment, and with a strong effort,
commenced again in a low, firm tone—

“I have been acquainted with you some time, sir, and have
never inquired, nor knew more than your name, up to this day.
I suffered myself to be pleased too blindly—”

“Dear Lady Imogen!”

“Stay a moment, sir! I will proceed directly to my business.
I received this morning a letter from the senior partner of a mercantile
house in the city, with which you are connected. It is
written on the supposition that I have some interest in you, and
informs me that you are not, as you yourself suppose, the son of
the gentleman who writes the letter.

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

“Madam!”

“That gentleman, sir, as you know, never was married. He
informs me, that, in the course of many financial visits to St.
Petersburgh, he formed a friendship with Count Manteuffel, then
minister of finance to the emperor, whose tragical end, in consequence
of his extensive defalcations, is well known. In brief, sir,
you were his child, and were taken by this English banker, and
carefully educated as his own, in happy ignorance, as he imagined,
of your father's misfortunes and mournful death.”

Tremlet leaned against the wall, unable to reply to this
astounding intelligence, and Lady Imogen went on.

“Your title and estates have been restored to you at the
request of your kind benefactor, and you are now the heir to a
princely fortune, and a count of the Russian empire. Here is
the letter, sir, which is of no value to me now. Mr. Tremlet!
one word more, sir.”

Lady Imogen gasped for breath.

“In return, sir, for much interest given you heretofore—in
return, sir, for this information—”

“Speak, dear Lady Imogen!”

“Spare my mother!”

“Mrs. St. Leger's carriage stops the way!” shouted a servant
at that moment, at the top of the stairs; and, as if there were a
spell in the sound to nerve her resolution anew, Lady Imogen
Ravelgold shook the tears from her eyes, bowed coldly to Tremlet,
and passed out into the dressing-room.

“If you please, sir,” said a servant, approaching the amazed
banker, “Mrs. St. Leger waits for you in her carriage.”

“Will you come home and sup with us?” said Lady Ravelgold
at the same instant, joining him in the tea-room.

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“I shall be only too happy, Lady Ravelgold.”

The bold coachman of Mrs. St. Leger continued to “stop the
way,” spite of policemen and infuriated footmen, for some fifteen
minutes. At the end of that time Mr. Tremlet appeared,
handing down Lady Ravelgold and her daughter, who walked to
their chariot, which was a few steps behind; and very much to
Mrs. St. Leger's astonishment, the handsome banker sprang past
her horses' heads a minute after, jumped into his cabriolet, which
stood on the opposite side of the street, and drove after the
vanishing chariot as if his life depended on overtaking it. Still
Mrs. St. Leger's carriage “stopped the way.” But, in a few
minutes after, the same footman who had summoned Tremlet in
vain, returned with the Russian secretary, doomed in blessed unconsciousness
to play the pis aller at her tête-à-tête supper in
Spring Gardens.