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interest in history, and I daresay that Corsican upstart will be remembered a few years.
    “We must go some time,” Barbara answered politely, smiling to herself at the drabness of the outing.
    “We go this afternoon,” she was told.
    Mabel peeped up as though she would like to say a word, but she was ordered to eat her soft pudding, and did it obediently.
    “Clivedon plans to return this afternoon,” Barbara mentioned.
    “Clivedon? Nonsense. He is off to a weekend party at Haddon’s place in Kent, with Lady Angela. He left from here. There will be a match, mark my words.”
    “He said . . .” Yet he had not actually said he would accompany her on the outing, merely that he had arranged one. An angry feeling began sprouting in her bosom, of having been outwitted by him.
    “It was his suggestion you would like to see it. And this evening we go to a concert of antique music. They are resuscitating the Elizabethan madrigal this month,” Lady Graham told her, with a satisfied nod of her head. “I don’t usually racket around so much, but to hear the madrigals is worth any exertion. It will be interesting for you. It will not be a late night at all; you will get plenty of sleep, as Clivedon suggested.”
    “Clivedon suggested it, did he?” she asked, her voice strangely tense.
    “Certainly he did. You should call him Lord Clivedon, by the by. Brassy manners will not do on Mecklenberg Square. You want to show him proper respect. I was surprised to hear such good sense from him. I was afraid he would expect me to drag you off to drums and gay revels, but he knew better. Clivedon is a little loose in his own amusements, there is no denying. But then, men are more free than ladies; always have been and always will be. Eat your crust, Mabel,” she added, sparing an eye for her other charge. “It will curl your hair.” This caused the old witch to emit a nasty laugh.
    Feeling sorry for the sister, Barbara mentioned the annoyance of straight hair.
    Lady Graham frowned at her having uttered a word on her own initiative, and again took over the conversation. “Sunday of course we shall do no more than go to church, but Monday I mean to take you to Burlington House to see the Elgin Marbles.”
    “I have seen the Elgin Marbles, Lady Graham,” Barbara said in a firm voice.
    “I saw them as well, when Elgin had them at his own place in Park Street, but they are much better displayed now, I hear. That great sculptured slab from the Temple of Nike was off in a corner where the work could not be appreciated. Take your sketch pad along, Lady Barbara. It will be an educational afternoon, to appreciate the Hellenic touch in sculpture.”
    Barbara said nothing. By Monday, she trusted, Clivedon would be home from the party, and if he thought she was to spend the Season in this manner, he would have something to learn. She went to Bullock’s Museum to view Napoleon’s carriage that afternoon, and in the evening she dozed through a very inferior rendition of Elizabethan madrigals. The audience was composed of ladies and gentlemen who looked nearly as old as the music. She doubted half of them were awake to hear it. Heads nodded on shoulders, and the snores were louder than the lyre. Both Lady Graham and Miss Mabel sat at attention, their noses quivering with the unwonted excitement. As Barbara was tired, she tolerated the dull evening without uttering a single word of complaint, though she was slow to rise to appreciation on the scale of her hostess.
    Church was attended on Sunday morning. Not the chapel royal, but a little out-of-the-way building in Somers Town, the building smelling of new bricks and mortar and the sermon of brimstone. The black coats of the men and black bombazine gowns of the ladies both smelled of camphor. Lady Barbara realized she had fallen amongst Dissenters, and racked it up in her account against her foe.
    Lady Graham did not approve of any frivolity such as museums and music on the Sabbath. There were