His sense of ennui was, in fact, driving him out upon society; and the
hopes of his sister, which had drooped somewhat after their first
leaving-out, now began to lift themselves again. Jane, on reviewing
Rosy's debut, had arrived at a juster estimate of her own share in it;
she had launched one member of the family very satisfactorily, and she
felt herself prompted to the launching of another.
Rosy was now in the full tide of success. The edge of the wedge had been
set with singular acumen, and the two or three smart blows that followed
had opened up society to her in a twinkling. She had appeared at a few of
the best houses, and had at once entered upon a vogue. Her mirror was
always full of cards, her cards were always full of names, and her own
name was always filling the newspapers. She figured in boxes at
theatre-parties, in booths at fancy fairs. She had already poured tea at
six receptions, and had acted as bridesmaid at two weddings. An incessant
stream had run from the six teapots, and nobody had looked at the two
brides. Jane would sit up in the dim library through the small hours
waiting for Rosy's ring and planning corresponding triumphs for
Truesdale.
Her first and chiefest task was to get him to take society seriously. He
had professed himself as unable to put his finger on it; he asked her
where it was to be found--what was the general platform on which it met.
At the Charity Ball, she had answered him--rightly, perhaps; wrongly,
perhaps.
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