Surely no man ought to be blamed for that. And he thought that Mr.
Smithson's wife might make her house the most popular in London. Lesbia,
in her mind's eye, beheld an imaginary Lady Lesbia Smithson giving
dances in that magnificent mansion, entertaining Royal personages. And
the doorways would be festooned with roses, as she had seen them the
other night at a ball in Grosvenor Square; but the house in Grosvenor
Square was a hovel compared with the Smithsonian Palace.
Lesbia was beginning to be a little tired of Lady Kirkbank and her
surroundings. Life taken _prestissimo_ is apt to pall, Lesbia sighed as
she finished her little song. She was beginning to look upon her
existence as a problem which had been given to her to solve, and the
solution just it present was all dark.
As she rose from the piano a footman came in with two letters on a
salver--bulky letters, such packages as Lesbia had never seen before.
She wondered what they could be. She opened the thickest envelope first.
It was Seraphine's bill--such a bill, page after page on creamy Bath
post, written in an elegant Italian hand by one of Seraphine's young
women.
Pages:
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564