thraldom. And now I was going to consult my mother on a question of vital importance. I was about to appeal to the very worldliness which I condemned, to assist me in my dilemma.

I had no difficulty in leaving Tavistock Villa for London. I do not suppose that if I had set out for Timbuctoo, any very unconquerable obstacles would have presented themselves.

My journey to town was without incident; my arrival at Grosvenor Square, stupid. The butler was far too well bred to express any surprise when he beheld me; the maids whom I met en route to my mother's morning-room, were too well drilled in fashionable idiocy to look either pleased or interested when I burst upon them.

My mother had only just risen. She had been at an ultra-swell reception the night before, and was to be present at another that evening, so that the interval between the two was to be spent in a lounge-chair with a novel and a few newspapers—those that chronicled in detail the events of society.

She pressed a farcical kiss upon my brow, said she was charmed to see me—though she