retty
little girl with them. By-the-by, Jack, what do you think of Miss
Bellew?"

"I can scarcely tell you; I only saw her for a moment, and then that
Hibernian hippopotamus, Mrs. Paul, so completely overshadowed her, there
was no getting a look at her."

"Devilish pretty girl, that she is; and one day or other, they say, will
have an immense fortune. Old Rooney always shakes his head when the idea
is thrown out, which only convinces me the more of her chance."

"Well, then, Master Phil, why don't you do something in that quarter?"

"Well, so I should; but somehow, most unaccountably, you'll say, I don't
think I made any impression. To be sure, I never went vigorously to
work: I couldn't get over my scruples of making up to a girl who may
have a large fortune, while I myself am so confoundedly out at the
elbows; the thing would look badly, to say the least of it; and so, when
I did think I was making a little running, I only 'held in' the faster,
and at length gave up the race. _You_ are the man, Hinton. _Your_
chances, I should say--"

"Ah, I don't know."

Just at this moment the door opened, and Lord Dudley de Vere entered,
dressed in coloured clothes, cut in the most foppish style of the day,
and with his hands stuck negligently behind in his coat-pockets.
He threw himself affectedly into a chair, and eyed us both without
speaking.

"I say, messieurs, Rooney or not Rooney? that's the question. Do we
accept this invitation for Friday?"

"I do, for one," said I, somewhat haughtily.

"Can't be, my boy," said O'Grady; "the thing is most unlucky: they have
a dinner at court that same day; our names are all on the list; and
thus we lose the Rooneys, which, from all I hear, is a very serious loss
indeed. Daley, Barrington, Harry Martin, and half a dozen others, the
first fellows of the day, are all to be there."

"What a deal they will talk," yawned out Lord Dudley. "I feel rather
happy to have escaped it. There's no saying a word to the woman beside
you, as long as those confounded fellows keep up a roaring fire of what
they think wit. What an idea! to be sure; there is not a man among them
that can tell you the odds upon the Derby, nor what year there was a
dead heat for the St. Leger. That little girl the Rooneys have got
is very pretty, I must confess; but I see what they are at: won't do,
though. Ha! O'Grady, you know what I mean?"

"Faith, I am very stupid this morning; can't say that I do."

"Not see