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176 to spend the afternoon and dine with a largely entertaining hostess near Kingston at a royal and select party. But how stupid and bourgeois it all was! A prima-donna had sung, an actor had spoken a scene, Royalty had eaten and giggled; everything was exactly as it had been on similar Sundays for the last ten years. That sort of repetition was so aimless, yet people were gratified at being asked, and thought it all so smart and so wonderful. It seemed to Lucia that the only wonderful thing about it was that people thought it smart. You stopped reading a letter or a book if it began to repeat itself; surely you had better stop entertaining if you could think of nothing new to say or do.

Madge Heron had kept her word about Lucia's lunch with her to-day being an all-alone lunch, and a tiny table was laid for them in the corner of the balcony outside the ball-room, already awninged in, in preparation for the dance she was giving this evening. As a matter of fact, the keepng of this tête-à-tête engagement was entirely in accordance with her own wishes; she wanted very much to have a talk to Lucia alone, for she was immensely interested in her, immensely attracted by her, and up till now Lucia's self (though not her success) puzzled and intrigued her. That bright reflecting surface on which life so shone and sparkled, naturally dazzled and attracted this pleasureseeking brain of London, and her freshness and originality were sufficient to assure her success. She was something of a new type also, a woman who really was desperately in earnest about appreciation of all that was fine from an artistic point of view; she had at least precipitated a New Set, and without affectation those who were of it would prefer, even in the height of the season, to spend an hour at the Tate rather than at Hurlingham. There had been sets like it before, but Lady Heron found a new note in Lucia's precipitate; she and hers really knew about what they admired: they did not only "thrill" as other sets had done.

But all this Lady Heron believed to be only the surface of Lucia; what lay below, whether she was kind or selfish, good or bad, she had at present no idea. It was that she wanted to find out, and now, whereas a few weeks ago Lucia had considerably studied her, it was she to-day who wanted to study Lucia no less.

Lucia appeared, as always, with a rush. On this occasion she hurried upstairs before Lady Heron's wan-faced butler could