At first the little circlet of gold wavered in the countess’s hand, then the hand shook, then the circlet fell, the countess’s head tossed itself into the air, and the countess’s feet shambled out to the lawn. She did not however go so fast but what she heard the signora’s voice, asking—

‘Who on earth is that woman, Mr Slope?’

‘That is Lady De Courcy.’

‘Oh, ah. I might have supposed so. Ha, ha, ha. Well, that’s as good as a play.’

It was as good as a play to any there who had eyes to observe it, and wit to comment on what they observed.

But the Lady De Courcy soon found a congenial spirit on the lawn. There she encountered Mrs Proudie, and as Mrs Proudie was not only the wife of a bishop, but was also the cousin of an earl, Lady De Courcy considered her to be the fittest companion she was likely to meet in that assemblage. They were accordingly delighted to see each other. Mrs Proudie by no means despised a countess, and as this countess lived in the county and within a sort of extensive visiting distance of Barchester, she was glad to have this opportunity of ingratiating herself.

‘My dear Lady De Courcy, I am so delighted,’ said she, looking as little grim as it was in her nature to do so. ‘I hardly expected to see you here. It is such a distance, and then you know, such a crowd.’

‘And such roads, Mrs Proudie! I really wonder how the people ever get about. But I don’t suppose they ever do.’

‘Well, I really don’t know; but I suppose not. The Thorne don’t, I know,’ said Mrs Proudie. ‘Very nice person, Miss Thorne, isn’t she?’

‘Oh, delightful and so queer; I’ve known her these twenty years. A great pet of mine is dear Miss Thorne. She is so very strange, you know. She always makes me think of the Esquimaux and the Indians. Isn’t her dress quite delightful?’

‘Delightful,’ said Mrs Proudie; ‘I wonder now whether she paints. Did you ever see such colour?’

‘Oh, of course,’ said Lady De Courcy; ‘that is, I have no doubt she does. But, Mrs Proudie, who is that woman on the sofa by the window? just step this way and you’ll see her, there—’ and the countess led her to a spot where she could plainly see the signora’s well–remembered face and figure.

She did not however do so without being equally well seen by the signora. ‘Look, look,’ said that lady to Mr Slope, who was still standing near to her; ‘see the high spiritualities and temporalities of the land in league together, and all against poor me. I’ll wager my bracelet, Mr Slope against your next sermon, that they’ve taken up their position there on purpose to pull me to pieces. Well, I can’t rush to the combat, but I know how to protect myself if the enemy come near me.’

But the enemy knew better. They could gain nothing be contact with the signora Neroni, and they could abuse her as they pleased at a distance from her on the lawn.

‘She’s that horrid Italian woman, Lady De Courcy; you must have heard of her.’

‘What Italian woman?’ said her ladyship, quite alive to the coming story; ‘I don’t think I’ve heard of any Italian woman coming into the country. She doesn’t look Italian either.’

‘Oh, you must have heard of her,’ said Mrs Proudie. ‘No, she’s not absolutely Italian. She is Dr Stanhope’s daughter—Dr Stanhope the prebendary; and she calls herself the Signora Neroni.’