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Chapter 11

           "Veryfewpeoplehaveanyrealfriends,"—saidLordEltonpresently."AndinthatrespectIsupposewe’renoneofusworseoffthanSocrates,whousedtokeeptwochairsonlyinhishouse‘oneformyself,andanotherforafriend—whenIfindhim!’ButyouareauniversalfavouriteLucio—amostpopularfellow—andIthinkyou’reratherhardonyourset.Peoplemustlookafterthemselvesyouknow—eh?"

           Luciobowedhisheadgravely.

           "Theymustindeed,"hereplied—"EspeciallyasthelatestnewsofscienceisthatGodhasgivenupthebusiness."

           MissFitzroylookeddispleased—buttheEarllaugheduproariously.Atthatmomentastepwasheardoutside,approachingtheopendoorwayofthedrawing-room,andMissChesney’squickearscaughtthesound.Sheshookherselfoutofherrecliningattitudeinstantlyandsaterect.

           "It’sSibyl!"shesaidwithahalf-laughinghalf-apologeticflashofherbrowneyesatusall—"InevercanlollbeforeSibyl!"

           Myheartbeatfastasthewomanwhompoetsmighthavecalledthegoddessoftheirdreams,butwhomIwasnowdisposedtoconsiderasanobjectofbeautylawfullyopentomypurchase,entered,cladinsimplewhite,unrelievedbyanyornamentssaveagoldenwaistbeltofantiqueworkmanship,andaknotofvioletsnestledamongthelaceatherbosom.ShelookedfarlovelierthanwhenIhadfirstseenheratthetheatre;therewasadeeperlightinhereyesandamoreroseateflushonhercheeks,whilehersmileasshegreeteduswaspositivelydazzling.

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