She had almost childlike confidence in the tact of her unscrupulous mother.
But how the morning's conversation altogether rankled in her heart, none save herself could tell: ay, and in that of the dowager.

Although Anne Ashton was the betrothed of Percival Elster, and Lord Hartledon's freely-avowed love for her was evidently that of a brother, and he had said he should do all he could to promote the marriage, the strongest jealousy had taken possession of Lady Maude's heart.

She already hated Anne Ashton with a fierce and bitter hatred.

She turned sick with envy when, in the morning visit that was that day paid by the Ashtons, she saw that Anne was really what Lord Hartledon had described her--one of the sweetest, most lovable, most charming of girls; almost without her equal in the world for grace and goodness and beauty.

She turned more sick with envy when, at dinner afterwards, to which the Ashtons came, Lord Hartledon devoted himself to them, almost to the neglect of his other guests, lingering much with Anne.
The countess-dowager marked it also, and was furious.