Cissy, Mary, never re-appeared with him; he was always either alone or accompanied only by some gentleman who was lost in the blaze of his glory.

There was another sense, however--and indeed there was more than one--in which she mostly found herself counting in the splendid creature with whom she had originally connected him.

He addressed this correspondent neither as Mary nor as Cissy; but the girl was sure of whom it was, in Eaten Square, that he was perpetually wiring to--and all so irreproachably!--as Lady Bradeen.

Lady Bradeen was Cissy, Lady Bradeen was Mary, Lady Bradeen was the friend of Fritz and of Gussy, the customer of Marguerite, and the close ally in short (as was ideally right, only the girl had not yet found a descriptive term that was) of the most magnificent of men.
Nothing could equal the frequency and variety of his communications to her ladyship but their extraordinary, their abysmal propriety.

It was just the talk--so profuse sometimes that she wondered what was left for their real meetings--of the very happiest people.