Had she not seen Lord Beaconsfield twice during the fatal week of his last general election, when England turned against him, when his great rival triumphed, and all was lost?
Had he not talked to her, as great men will talk to the young and charming women whose flatteries soften their defeats; so that, from the wings, she had seen almost the last of that well-graced actor, caught his last gestures and some of his last words?
"Brava, brava!" said Meadows, when the story ceased, although it had been intended to upset one of his own most brilliant generalisations; and a sound of clapping hands went round the circle.

Lady Dunstable, a little flushed and panting, smiled and was silent.

Meadows, meanwhile, was thinking--"How often has she told that tale?
She has it by heart.
Every touch in it has been sharpened a dozen times.

All the same--a wonderful performance!" Lord Dunstable, meanwhile, sat absolutely silent, his hat on the back of his head, his attention fixed on his wife.

As the group broke up, and the chairs were pushed back, he said in Doris's ear--"Isn't she an awfully clever woman, my wife ?" Before Doris could answer, she heard Lady Dunstable carelessly--but none the less peremptorily--inviting her women guests to see their rooms.
Doris walked by her hostess's side towards the house.