kshire, three or four years. But his
views were not in the diplomatic line, and this appointment only served
as a political school until he could enter Parliament. May Dacre had
wormed from him his secret, and worked with energy in his cause. An
opportunity appeared to offer itself, and, under the patronage of a
Catholic nobleman, he was to appear as a candidate for an open borough.
It was on this business that he had returned to England.

CHAPTER VI.

_Birds of a Feather_

WE WILL go and make a morning call. The garish light of day, that never
suits a chamber, was broken by a muslin veil, which sent its softened
twilight through a room of moderate dimensions but of princely
decoration, and which opened into a conservatory. The choice saloon was
hung with rose-coloured silk, which diffused a delicate tint over the
inlaid and costly cabinets. It was crowded with tables covered with
_bijouterie_. Apparently, however, a road had been cut through the
furniture, by which you might wind your way up to the divinity of the
temple. A ravishing perfume, which was ever changing, wandered through
the apartment. Now a violet breeze made you poetical; now a rosy gale
called you to love. And ever and anon the strange but thrilling breath
of some rare exotic summoned you, like an angel, to opening Eden. All
was still and sweet, save that a fountain made you, as it were, more
conscious of silence; save that the song of birds made you, as it were,
more sensible of sweetness.

Upon a couch, her small head resting upon an arm covered with bracelets,
which blazed like a Sol-dan's treasure, reclined Mrs. Dallington Vere.

She is in thought. Is her abstracted eye fixed in admiration upon that
twinkling foot which, clothed in its Russian slipper, looks like a
serpent's tongue, small, red, and pointed; or does a more serious
feeling than self-admiration inspire this musing? Ah! a cloud courses
over that pellucid brow. Tis gone, but it frowned like the harbinger of
a storm. Again! A small but blood-red blush rises into that clear cheek.
It was momentary, but its deep colour indicated that it came from the
heart. Her eye lights up with a wild and glittering fire, but the flash
vanishes into darkness, and gloom follows the unnatural light. She
clasps her hands; she rises from an uneasy seat, though supported by a
thousand pillows, and she paces the conservatory.

A guest is announced. It is Sir Lucius Grafton.

He salutes her wi