“Dearest Fanny, how charming to see you again!” she cooed. Through her lashes she gazed at her friend’s enormous headdress, with its rolls of powdered curls and the imitation flowers perched upon the top of the erection.

“But, my angel!” exclaimed Lady Fanny, stepping back to view her, “surely you have been ill?”

“How strange!” smiled Lavinia. “I was about to ask you that same question, my dear! ’Tis age, I doubt not. Do we both look such dreadful hags?” She turned her bewitching little countenance to the men, and smiled appealingly.

Compliments showered upon her, and Lady Devereux, who was conscious that her own sallow countenance, in spite of rouge and powder, must appear even more sallow beside Lavinia’s pink-and-whiteness, flushed in annoyance and turned away, begging her dearest Lavvy to come to the faro with her. But Lavinia, it appeared, was going to watch the dicing at Richard’s table: she vowed she should bring him monstrous good luck.