At the end of March the Duchess of Omnium, never more to be called Lady Glencora by the world at large, came up to London. The Duke, though he was now banished¹ from the House of Commons, was nevertheless wanted in London; and what funereal² ceremonies were left might be accomplished³ as well in town as at Matching Priory. No old Ministry⁴ could be turned out and no new Ministry formed without the assistance of the young Duchess. It was a question whether she should not be asked to be Mistress of the Robes, though those who asked it knew very well that she was the last woman in England to hamper⁵ herself by dependence⁶ on the Court. Up to London they came; and, though of course they went into no society, the house in Carlton Gardens was continually thronged⁷ with people who had some special reason for breaking the ordinary rules of etiquette⁸ in their desire to see how Lady Glencora carried herself as Duchess of Omnium. “Do you think she’s altered much?” said Aspasia Fitzgibbon, an elderly spinster, the daughter of Lord Claddagh, and sister of Laurence Fitzgibbon, member for one of the western Irish counties. “I don’t think she was quite so loud as she used to be.”

Mrs Bonteen was of opinion that there was a change. “She was always uncertain, you know, and would scratch like a cat if you offended her.”

“And won’t she scratch now?” asked Miss Fitzgibbon.

“I’m afraid she’ll scratch oftener. It was always a trick of hers to pretend to think nothing of rank — but she values her place as highly as any woman in England.”

This was Mrs Bonteen’s opinion; but Lady Baldock, who was present, differed. This Lady Baldock was not the mother, but the sister-in-law of that Augusta Boreham who had lately become Sister Veronica John. “I don’t believe it,” said Lady Baldock. “She always seems to me to be like a great school girl who has been allowed too much of her own way. I think people give way to her too much, you know.” As Lady Baldock was herself the wife of a peer, she naturally did not stand so much in

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