So
Lady Kirkbank carried her off to the musical _matinee_, beaming and
radiant, having forgotten all about that dark hint of evil glancing at
the name of her long dead grandfather.
The duchess was not on view when Lady Kirkbank and her _protegee_
arrived, and a good many people belonging to Georgie's own particular
set were scattered like flowers among those real music-lovers who had
come solely to hear the new pianiste. The music-lovers were mostly dowdy
in their attire, and seemed a race apart. Among them were several young
women of the Blessed Damozel school, who wore flowing garments of
sap-green or orche, or puffed raiment of Venetian red, and among whom
the cartwheel hat, the Elizabethan sleeve, and the Toby frill were
conspicuous.
There were very few men except the musical critics in this select
assemblage, and Lesbia began to think that it was going to be very
dreary. She had lived in such an atmosphere of masculine adulation while
under Lady Kirkbank's wing that it was a new thing to find herself in a
room where there were none to love and very few to praise her.
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