Smithson felt that the liege lady of his
life, the woman he meant to marry willy nilly, would be the belle of the
race-course. Nor was he disappointed. Everybody in London had heard of
Lady Lesbia Haselden. Her photograph was in all the West-End windows,
was enshrined in the albums of South Kensington and Clapham, Maida Vale
and Haverstock Hill. People whose circles were far remote from Lady
Lesbia's circle, were as familiar with her beauty as if they had known
her from her cradle. And all these outsiders wanted to see her in the
flesh, just as they always thirst to behold Royal personages. So when it
became known that the beautiful Lady Lesbia Haselden was on board Mr.
Smithson's launch, all the people in the small boats, or on neighbouring
barges, made it their business if have a good look at her. The launch
was almost mobbed by those inquisitive little boats in the intervals
between the races.
'What are the people all staring and hustling one another for?' asked
Lesbia, innocently. She had seen the same hustling and whispering and
staring in the hall at the opera, when she was waiting for her carriage;
but she chose to affect unconsciousness.
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