determined not to care whether Mr Grandcourt came near her again or not.
He did come, however, and at a moment when he could propose to conduct Mrs Davilow to her carriage. "Shall we meet again in the ball-room?" she said, as he raised his hat at parting. The "yes" in reply had the usual slight drawl and perfect gravity.
"You were wrong for once, Gwendolen," said Mrs Davilow during their few minutes' drive to the castle.
"In what, mamma?"
"About Mr Grandcourt's appearance and manners. You can't find anything ridiculous in him."
"I suppose I could if I tried, but I don't want to do it," said Gwendolen, rather pettishly; and her mamma was afraid to say more.
It was the rule on these occasions for the ladies and gentlemen to dine apart, so that the dinner might make a time of comparative ease and rest for both. Indeed the gentlemen had a set of archery stories about the epicurism of the ladies, who had somehow been reported to show a revoltingly masculine judgment in venison, even asking for the fat—a proof of the frightful rate at which corruption might go on in women, but for severe social restraint. And every year the amiable
