To-day, however, she was in no mood to admire the Duchess. Life was proving itself a tiresome business, full of unpaid bills and undutiful daughters. Vaguely it annoyed her that Léonie (who had a thoroughly unsatisfactory son if only she could be brought to realize it) should look so carefree.

“I vow,” she said rather sharply, “I do not know why we poor creatures slave and fret our lives out for our children, for they are all ungrateful and provoking and only want to disgrace one.”

Léonie wrinkled her brow at that. “I do not think,” she said seriously, “that John would ever want to disgrace you, Fanny.”

“Oh, I was not talking of John!” said her ladyship. “Sons are another matter, though to be sure I should not say so to you, for you have trouble enough with poor dear Dominic, and indeed I wonder how it is he has not turned your hair white with worry already, and young as he is.”

“I do not have trouble with Dominique,” said Léonie flatly. “I find him fort amusant.”

“Then I trust you will find his latest exploit fort amusant,” said Lady Fanny tartly. “I make no doubt he will break his neck over it, for what must he do at the drum last night but wager young Crossly — as mad a rake as ever I set eyes on, and I should be prodigious sorry to see my son in his company — that he would drive his curricle from London to Newmarket in four hours. Five hundred guineas on it, so I heard — play or pay!”

“He drives very well,” Léonie said hopefully. “I do not think that he will break his neck, but you are quite right, tout même, Fanny: it makes one very anxious.”

“And not content with making absurd wagers, which of course he must lose — ”