Mr. Russell’s restless gaze had swung away from Alice, but Webb continued to stare. Alice looked up and saw his eye, hideously enlarged by the quizzing glass, glaring at her from the other side of the ballroom and gave an involuntary chuckle.

That was when Harold Webb moved forward to ask her to dance.

Relieved of the depression which had been darkening her days, Alice danced as lightly as she had at the ball with the Duke, and talked just as lightly in her charming French accent. She did not hear a word Lord Harold addressed to her. She was pleasurably conscious of the envious glances she was receiving from the other debutantes and experienced a heady feeling of success for the first time.

“Making a cake of yourself over Frenchie,” sneered Mr. Russell when Webb had at last reluctantly surrendered Alice to her next partner.

“Her name,” said Webb stiffly, “is Alice, Comtesse de la Valle-Chenevix and I’ll thank you to refer to that gel with respect in future, Harry.”

“So! Here we go again,” laughed Harry. “All set for the altar and then you get cold feet at the last minute. I don’t see me ever being your best man. What’s so special about this Comtesse? Them French émigrées are ten a penny.”

“She has a feminine sweetness unusual in our modern gel,” said Webb pompously. “The lady I would wish to be my wife should be someone pliant, who could be moulded…”

“Bullied, rather,” said Harry.

“Nonsense. Everyone knows the male is the superior sex. Women with too much to say for themselves do not make good wives.”

“Funny how the female of the species don’t seem to have got hold of that idea,” mocked Harry. “Your Comtesse may have other interests.”

“Other than me?” said Lord Harold, his fine eyes sparkling with amazement. “My dear chap, no woman wishes for any other man an she is blessed with my company.”

That did, in fact, seem to be the case, although Harry thought to himself that no woman had really been in his friend’s company long enough to find the pompous ass who lay underneath that handsome exterior. Harry did not really like Lord Harold Webb, but one had to have a companion, and no one else seemed anxious to fill that role.

Alice’s newfound animation had attracted more than Lord Harold Webb to her side, and Miss Snapper sat with the chaperones and watched Alice with flat, black eyes. It was the first time that Miss Snapper had been made to feel the paid companion she actually was, for usually a very meek and mild Alice sat at her side throughout the evening, only rarely being asked to dance.

“She is become too bold,” thought Miss Snapper. “I must speak to her very sternly.”