It was the decision of all who knew her, and of many who did not. No one could deny her beauty, or her charm, but both were acknowledged to be deadly. Her conquests were innumerable; men fell so desperately in love with her that they became wan with desire, and very often did extremely foolish things when they discovered that she did not care the snap of her fingers for them. Young Mr Vane had actually drunk himself to death; and poor Sir Henry Drew had bought himself a pair of colours and gone off to the Peninsula with the declared intention of being killed, which he very soon was; while, more shocking than all the rest, Bab had allowed her destructive green eyes to drift towards Philip Darcy, with the result that poor dear Marianne, who had been his faithful wife for ten years, now sat weeping at home, quite neglected.

It was a mystery to the ladies what the gentlemen found so alluring in those green eyes, with their deceptive look of candour. For green they were, let who would call them blue. Bab had only to put on a green dress for there to be no doubt at all about it. They were set under most delicately arched brows, and were fringed by lashes which had obviously been darkened. That outrageously burnished head of hair might be natural, but those black lashes undoubtedly were not. Nor, agreed the waspish, was that lovely complexion. In fact, the Lady Barbara Childe, beyond all other iniquities, painted her face.

It became apparent to those who were gazing at her that the Lady Barbara had not, on this night of April, stopped at that. One foot was thrust a little forward from under the frills of a yellow-spangled gown, and it was seen that the Lady Barbara, wearing Grecian sandals, had painted her toenails gold.

Miss Devenish was heard to give a gasp. Lady Sarah Lennox, on the arm of General Maitland, said: "Gracious, only look at Bab's feet! She learned that trick in Paris, of course."

"Dashing, by Jove!" said the General appreciatively.

"Very, very fast!" said Lady Sarah. "Shocking!"

It was not the least part of Barbara's charm that having arrayed herself in a startling costume she contrived thereafter to seem wholly unconscious of the appearance she presented. She was never seen to pat her curls into place, or to cast an anxious glance towards the mirror. No less a personage than Mr Brummell had taught her this magnificent unconcern. "Once having assured yourself that your dress is perfect in every detail," had pronounced that oracle, "you must not give it another thought. No one, I fancy, has ever seen me finger my cravat, twitch at the lapels of my coat, or smooth creases from my sleeve."

So the Lady Barbara, in a shimmering golden gown of spangles which clung to her tall shape as though it had been moulded to it, with her gold toenails, and her cluster of red curls threaded with a golden fillet, was apparently quite oblivious of being the most daringly dressed lady in the room. Fifty pairs of eyes were fixed upon her, some in patent disapproval, some in equally patent admiration, and she did not betray by as much as a flicker of an eyelid that she was aware of being a cynosure. That dreadfully disarming smile of hers swept across her face, and she moved towards Lady Worth, and held out her hand, saying in her oddly boyish voice: "How do you do? Is your little boy well?"

In spite of the fact that Judith had been by no means pleased, three months before, to see her infant son entranced by the Lady Barbara's charms, this speech could not but gratify her. "Very well, thank you," she replied. "Have you been back in Brussels long?"

"No, two days only."

"I did not know you had the intention of returning."

"Oh - ! London was confoundedly flat," said Bab carelessly.

Miss Devenish, who had never before heard such a mannish expression on a lady's lips, stared. Lady Barbara glanced down at her from her graceful height, and then looked at Judith, her brows asking a question. A little unwillingly - but, after all, it was not likely that Bab would waste more than two minutes of her time on little Lucy Devenish - Judith made the necessary introduction. The smile and the hand were bestowed; Barbara made a movement with her fan, including in the group the officer on whose arm she had entered the salon. "Lady Worth, do you known M. le Capitaine Comte de Lavisse?"

"I believe we have met," acknowledged Judith, devoutly hoping that Brussels' most notorious rake would not take one of his dangerous fancies to the damsel in her charge.

However, the Captain Count's dark eyes betrayed no more than a fleeting interest in Miss Devenish, and before any introduction could be made a young gentleman with embryonic whiskers, and a sandy head at lamentable difference with his scarlet dress coat, joined them.

"Hallo, Bab!" said Lord Harry Alastair. "Servant, Lady Worth! Miss Devenish, do you know they are dancing in the other room? May I have the honour?"

Judith, smiling a gracious permission, could not but feel that the path of a chaperon was a hard one. The reputation of the Alastairs, from Dominic, Duke of Avon, down to his granddaughter, Barbara, was not such as to lead a conscientious duenna to observe with pleasure her charge being borne off by any one of them. She comforted herself with the reflection that Lord Harry, an eighteen-year-old Ensign could hardly be considered dangerous. Had it been Lord George, now! But Lord George, happily, was not in Belgium.

By the time Lord Harry had escorted Miss Devenish to the ballroom, the inevitable crowd had gathered round his sister. Lady Worth escaped from it, but not before she had been asked (inevitably, she thought) for news from Vienna.

Rumours and counter-rumours were as usual being circulated; the English in Brussels seemed to be poised for flight; and the only thing that would infallibly reassure the timorous was the certain news of the Duke's arrival.

It was easy to see what Brussels would make of him when he did come. "The pedestal is ready for the hero," said Judith, with rather a provocative smile. "And we are all ready to kneel and worship at the base. I hope he may be worthy of our admiration."

General Maitland, to whom she had addressed this remark, said: "Do you know him, Lady Worth?"

"I have not that pleasure. Pray do not mention it, but I have never so much as laid eyes on him. Is it not shocking?"

"Oh!" said the General.

She raised her brows. "What am I to understand by that, if you please? Shall I be disappointed? I warn you, I expect a demi-god!"

"Demi-god," repeated the General, stroking one beautiful whisker. "Well, I don't know. Shouldn't have called him so myself."

"Ah, I am to be disappointed! I feared as much."

"No - no," said the General. "Not disappointed. He is a very able commander."

"That sounds a little flat, I confess. Is it only the ladies who worship him? Do not his soldiers?"

"Oh no, nothing like that!" said the General, relieved to be able to answer a plain question. "I believe they rather like him than not: they like to see his hook nose among them at any rate; but they don't worship him. Don't think he'd care for it if they did."

She was interested. "You present me with a new picture, General. My brother-in-law is quite devoted to him, I believe."

"Audley? Well, he's one of his family, you see." He observed a bewildered look on her face, and added: "On his staff, I should say. That's another matter altogether. His staff know him better than the rest of us."

"This is more promising. He is unapproachable. A demi-god should certainly be so."

He laughed suddenly. "No, no, you won't find him unapproachable, Lady Worth, I pledge you my word!"

Their conversation was interrupted by Sarah and Georgiana Lennox, who came up to them with their arms entwined. The General greeted the elder sister with such a warm smile that Lady Worth was satisfied that rumour had not lied about his purpose of re-marriage. Lady Sarah went off on his arm; Georgiana remained beside Judith, watching the shifting crowd for a few moments. She presently said in rather a thoughtful voice: "Do you see that Bab Childe is back?"

"Yes, I have been speaking to her."

"I must say, I wish she had stayed away," confided Georgiana. "It is the oddest thing, because, for myself, I don't dislike her, but wherever she is there is always some horrid trouble, or unhappiness. Even Mama, who never silly, is a little afraid she may cast her eyes in March's direction. Of course, we don't breathe a word of such a thing at home, but it's perfectly true."

"What, that your brother -"

"Oh no, no, but that Mama fears he might! One can't blame her. There does seem to be something about Bab which drives quite sensible men distracted. Dreadful, isn't it?"

"I think it is."

"Yes, so do I," said Georgiana regretfully. "I wish I had it."

Judith could not help laughing, but she assured her vivacious young friend that she was very well as she was. "All the nicest men pay their court to Georgy," she said. "It is men like the Comte de Lavisse who run after Lady Barbara."

"Yes," sighed Georgiana, looking pensively in the direction of the Count. "Very true. Of course one would not wish to be admired by such a person."

This sentiment was echoed by Lady Barbara's brother, much later in the evening. As his carriage conveyed him and his ladies home to the Rue Ducale he said in a peevish tone that he wondered Bab could bear to have that foreign fellow for ever at her elbow.

She only laughed, but his wife, who had been yawning in her corner of the carriage, said sharply: "If you mean Lavisse, I am sure I don't know why you should. I only wish Bab may not play fast and loose with him. I believe he is extremely rich."