m, and do what you can.'

'Which is he?'

'At the extreme end, next to the very pretty woman, who, by-the-bye, I
recommend to your notice: Mrs. Dallington Vere. She is amusing. I know
her well. She is some sort of relation to your Dacres. I will present
you to both at once.'

'Why! I will think of it.'

'Well, then! I must away. The two stewards knocking their heads together
is rather out of character. Do you know it is raining hard? I am
cursedly nervous about to-morrow.'

'Pooh! pooh! If I could get through to-night, I should not care for
to-morrow.'

CHAPTER III.

_The Duke Apologises_

AS SIR LUCIUS hurried off his colleague advanced towards the upper end
of the room, and, taking up a position, made his observations, through
the shooting figures of the dancers, on the dreaded Mr. Dacre. The late
guardian of the Duke of St. James was in the perfection of manhood;
perhaps five-and-forty by age; but his youth had lingered long. He
was tall, thin, and elegant, with a mild and benevolent expression of
countenance, not unmixed, however, with a little reserve, the ghost of
youthly pride. Listening with polished and courtly bearing to the pretty
Mrs. Dallington Vere, assenting occasionally to her piquant observations
by a slight bow, or expressing his dissent by a still slighter smile,
seldom himself speaking, yet always with that unembarrassed manner which
makes a saying listened to, Mr. Dacre was altogether, in appearance, one
of the most distinguished personages in this distinguished assembly. The
young Duke fell into an attitude worthy of Hamlet: 'This, then, is _old_
Dacre! O deceitful Fitz-pompey! O silly St. James! Could I ever forget
that tall, mild man, who now is perfectly fresh in my memory? Ah! that
memory of mine; it has been greatly developed to-night. Would that I had
cultivated that faculty with a little more zeal! But what am I to do?
The case is urgent. What must the Dacres think of me? What must May
Dacre think? On the course the whole day, and I the steward, and not
conscious of the presence of the first family in the Riding! Fool, fool!
Why, why did I accept an office for which I was totally unfitted? Why,
why must I flirt away a whole morning with that silly Sophy Wrekin? An
agreeable predicament, truly, this! What would I give now once more to
be in St. James's Street! Confound my Yorkshire estates! How they
must dislike, how they must despise me! And now, truly, I am to be
_in