"Here we are, and there is Effie, skipping about like a wild thing as usual.

I think that child is demented." On the following morning--it was Friday--Lady Honoria, accompanied by Anne, departed in the very best of tempers.

For the next three weeks, at any rate, she would be free from the galling associations of straightened means--free to enjoy the luxury and refined comfort to which she had been accustomed, and for which her soul yearned with a fierce longing that would be incomprehensible to folk of a simpler mind.
Everybody has his or her ideal Heaven, if only one could fathom it.

Some would choose a sublimated intellectual leisure, made happy by the best literature of all the planets; some a model state (with themselves as presidents), in which (through their beneficent efforts) the latest radical notions could actually be persuaded to work to everybody's satisfaction; others a happy hunting ground, where the game enjoyed the fun as much as they did; and so on, _ad infinitum_.
Lady Honoria was even more modest.

Give her a well appointed town and country house, a few powdered footmen, plenty of carriages, and other needful things, including of course the _entree_ to the upper celestial ten, and she would ask no more from age to age.