“Somebody ought to put fireworks in his coat-tail pockets; but he’s awfully good-looking—­he’s just frightfully handsome.  He quite fluttered me.”

“I say, Miss Burgoyne,” Lionel interposed, quickly, “there’s a sister-in-law of his coming to town shortly, on her way to Brighton—­a Miss Cunyngham—­and I should like to have her mother and herself come behind for a little while, some night they were at the theatre—­it is interesting to those people, you know—­”

“You are the one who would have no strangers in the wings!” said the voice.

“And I want you to be civil to them—­”

“Tea and cake?  All right.  But you haven’t told me how you are going down to Richmond.”

“Yes, I have.  I’m going down by train, most likely.”

“Oh, by train.  I suppose I ought to accept Lord Denysfort’s invitation.”

“What’s the good of driving at this time of year?” he asked.  “It will be pitch dark.”

“There will be a full moon, they say.”

“You won’t see it because of the fog.  In fact, the whole thing is a mistake.  The dinner should have been given in London.”

“Oh, I think it will be great fun dining at a half-deserted hotel—­it will be ghostly—­and I’m going out on the terrace, if it is as black as midnight.”

“And what are you going to do with your gallant warrior—­with the furious fire-eater who wanted to bring my humble career to a premature end?”

“I don’t know who you mean,” said the voice, but with no great decision.

“You don’t remember saving my life, then?” he asked.  “Have you forgotten the duel that was to have been fought before I went to Scotland, and how you stepped in to protect me?  If it hadn’t been for you, I might have fallen on the gory field of battle—­”

“It’s all very well for you to mock,” said she, “but there’s nothing that young man wouldn’t do for my sake; and I don’t see anything to laugh at in true esteem and affection.  They’re too rare nowadays.  I know one or two gentlemen who might be improved by a little more devotion and—­and chivalry.  But it’s all persiflage nowadays.  Everything is connu—­”

“Behind the scenes, perhaps; but it’s different when you import the fresh, the ingenuous element from the outer world,” said he (but what interest had he in the discussion?—­he did not wear his heart on his sleeve for Miss Burgoyne to peck at).  “Aren’t you going to take Mr. Miles down with you?”

“Poor Percy!” said the now muffled voice (perhaps she had a pin in her teeth, or perhaps she was still further touching-up her lips), “I suppose he would come if he were invited; but he doesn’t know any of them.”

“Why don’t you ask Lehmann for an invitation for him?”

“What do you mean, Mr. Moore?” demanded the voice—­sharply enough now.

“Oh, nothing.”

“I consider you are very impertinent.  Why should I ask for an invitation for Mr. Miles?  What would that imply?  Do you suppose I particularly wish him to be there?”