She was ready to do anything. She would teach the
stupidest children, or scrub floors, or bake bread. There was no service
she would deem degrading for his sake. She meant when she married to
drop her courtesy title. She would not be Lady Mary Hammond, a poor
sprig of nobility, but plain Mrs. Hammond, a working man's wife.
Lesbia's presentation was over, and had realised all Lady Kirkbank's
expectations. The Society papers were unanimous in pronouncing Lord
Maulevrier's sister the prettiest _debutante_ of the season. They
praised her classical features, the admirable poise of her head, her
peerless complexion. They described her dress at the drawing-room; they
described her 'frocks' in the Park and at Sandown. They expatiated on
the impression she had made at great assemblies. They hinted at even
Royal admiration. All this, frivolous fribble though it might be, Lady
Maulevrier read with delight, and she was still more gratified by
Lesbia's own account of her successes. But as the season advanced
Lesbia's letters to her grandmother grew briefer--mere hurried scrawls
dashed off while the carriage was at the door, or while her maid was
brushing her hair.
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