minutes before, and the Colonel had lost no time in taking Kingsland to task for his stupidity of the past night.
"I'm no end sorry," the Lieutenant said, in very apologetic tones.
"That doesn't give me my letter," growled the Colonel.
"I know I'm an awful duffer," assented Kingsland, "but when he came up behind me and asked questions about it, I was so staggered I let him take it right out of my hands. It wasn't addressed, you know, and I naturally couldn't say who gave it to me."
"I should hope not indeed."
"Well, what shall I do – ask him for it?"
"No, no, leave it alone; you've blundered enough. You all meet at a country house to-morrow."
"Yes."
"Well, trust its recovery to her; she'll get it, if he has it with him. If he leaves it behind in London so much the easier for me."
"But I thought you were coming down – "
"You think a great deal too much, and your actions are – "
"Sh!" whispered the Lieutenant, laying his hand on Darcy's arm. "He's looking our way, he'll hear us."
Stanley had not caught a word of the previous conversation, but a whisper sometimes carries much farther than the ordinary tones of the voice, and he heard the caution and saw the gesture which accompanied it, very distinctly.
The Colonel and the Lieutenant were close upon him by this time, and Stanley, who had no wish to be recognised, began to move off, and disappeared in the crowd, determined to make the best of his way to the door. He was terribly bored.
He was not destined to escape quite so easily, however, for Lady Isabelle McLane sighted him in transit, and in a moment more had drawn him into a protecting corner with two seats, and settled down to a serious conversation.
"I hear you're going down to the Roberts'," she said; "I'm invited too."
"Then I'm all the more sorry that I'm not to be there," he replied.
"You surprise me; I supposed your acceptance was of some standing. I hope there's nothing wrong, that your chief hasn't forgotten his position, and turned fractious?"
"Oh, no, my chief behaves very well," Stanley hastened to assure her, "but the fact is – I, well, I don't find it convenient."
"Or, in other words, you've some reason for not wanting to go."
He assented, having learned by long and bitter experience, that when a woman makes up her mind to exert her faculties of instinct, it is easier by far to acquiesce at once in any conclusion to which she may have jumped, however erroneous.
"Will you be shocked if I say I'm glad of it?"
The Secretary shrugged his shoulders; he thought he knew what was coming.
"It certainly isn't complimentary to me," he replied; "but you've always exercised the prerogative of a friend to tell disagreeable truths."
"Now, that's very unkind, Mr. Stanley. I'm sure I only do it for your good."
"My dear Lady Isabelle, if you'll allow a man who is older than your charming self, and who has seen more of the world than I hope you'll ever do – "
"To tell a disagreeable truth?" she queried, filling out the sentence, as pique prompted her.
"To make a suggestion."
"It's the same thing. Go on."
"It's merely this. That you'll never achieve a great social success till you've realised that the well-being of your friends is your least important consideration."
"Dear me, Mr. Secretary, I had no idea you were so tender in regard to Miss Fitzgerald."
"Who said anything about Miss Fitzgerald?"
"I did. I don't suppose you knew she was to be at Roberts' Hall."
"Certainly I know it. That is the very reason why I'm not going."
"I'm unfeignedly rejoiced. I've watched your progress in London with much interest, and believe me, Miss Fitzgerald is a stumbling-block in your path."
"All my friends, all the people who have my good at heart," he replied a trifle testily, "seem to think it their duty to warn me against Miss Fitzgerald."
"I should hate to see you become entangled."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there's not even the shadow of a chance of such an event coming to pass. Miss Fitzgerald and I are both philosophers in our way. We attend to the serious business of society when we are apart, and indulge in a little mild and harmless flirtation when we occasionally meet, quite understanding that it means nothing, and is merely a means of relaxation, to keep our hands in, as it were."
"You say that so glibly, that I'm sure you must have said it before. It's flippant, and, besides that, it's not strictly true."
"Really!"
"Oh, excuse me if I've said anything rude, but this is a very, very serious matter, according to my way of thinking! and I do wish you'd consent to be serious about it just for once, won't you, to please me?"
"Certainly, if you wish it, and I'm amazingly honoured that you should have spent so much of your valuable time over my poor affairs."
"That isn't a promising beginning," she said reflectively, "for a man who has agreed to be serious; but really now, you must know that I'm distressed about you. Your attentions to this lady are the talk of London."
"I've told you," he replied, "that I've refused this invitation to the house-party. Isn't that a sufficient answer, and won't it set your mind at rest?"
"Ye-es. Would you object if I asked just one more question? If you think it horribly impertinent you're just to refuse to answer it."
"Ask away."
"Had you, before refusing, previously accepted this invitation of Mrs. Roberts?"
"Yes," he replied, a trifle sheepishly.
"Thanks, so much," she said, "I quite understand now."
"Then may we talk on some more congenial subject?"
"No, you must take me back to Mamma."
"What, was I only taken aside to be lectured?"
"Oh, no," she hastened to assure him, naïvely – it was her first season – "but we have been chatting already fifteen minutes, and that's long enough."
"Oh, dear!" he said regretfully, "I thought I'd left Mrs. Grundy at the tea-table."
"You are so careless yourself that you forget that others have to be careful. Here comes Lieutenant Kingsland to my rescue. You would not believe it, Lieutenant," she continued, as that officer approached them, "this gentleman considers himself abused because I will not talk to him all the afternoon."
"I quite agree with him," said Kingsland, "not that I have ever had that felicity; it's one of my most cherished ambitions."
"You're
