Lady Janets Companion

The clock has just struck two. The table is spread for luncheon.

The persons seated at the table are three in number. First, Lady Janet
Roy. Second, a young lady who is her reader and companion. Third, a
guest staying in the house, who has already appeared in these pages
under the name of Horace Holmcroft--attached to the German army as war
correspondent of an English newspaper.

Lady Janet Roy needs but little introduction. Everybody with the
slightest pretension to experience in London society knows Lady Janet
Roy.

Who has not heard of her old lace and her priceless rubies? Who has not
admired her commanding figure, her beautifully dressed white hair, her
wonderful black eyes, which still preserve their youthful brightness,
after first opening on the world seventy years since? Who has not felt
the charm of her frank, easily flowing talk, her inexhaustible spirits,
her good-humored, gracious sociability of manner? Where is the modern
hermit who is not familiarly acquainted, by hearsay at least, with
the fantastic novelty and humor of her opinions; with her generous
encouragement of rising merit of any sort, in all ranks, high or low;
with her charities, which know no distinction between abroad and at
home; with her large indulgence, which no ingratitude can discourage,
and no servility pervert? Everybody has heard of the popular old
lady--the childless widow of a long-forgotten lord. Everybody knows Lady
Janet Roy.

But who knows the handsome young woman sitting on her right hand,
playing with her luncheon instead of eating it? Nobody really knows her.