ejoined her.

'I am sorry, that, by some blunder, your carriage has gone. What could
you have told them?'

'Impossible! How provoking! How stupid!'

'Perhaps you told them that you would return with the Fitz-pompeys, but
they are gone; or Mrs. Aberleigh, and she is not here; or perhaps--but
they have gone too. Everyone has gone.'

'What shall I do? How distressing! I had better send. Pray send; or I
will ask Lady de Courcy.'

'Oh! no, no! I really did not like to see you with her. As a favour--as
a favour to me, I pray you not.'

'What can I do? I must send. Let me beg your Grace to send.'

'Certainly, certainly; but, ten to one, there will be some mistake.
There always is some mistake when you send these strangers. And,
besides, I forgot all this time my carriage is here. Let it take you
home.'

'No, no!'

'Dearest Lady Aphrodite, do not distress yourself. I can wait here till
the carriage returns, or I can walk; to be sure, I can walk. Pray, pray
take the carriage! As a favour--as a favour to me!'

'But I cannot bear you to walk. I know you dislike walking.'

'Well, then, I will wait.'

'Well, if it must be so; but I am ashamed to inconvenience you. How
provoking of these men! Pray, then, tell the coachman to drive fast,
that you may not have to wait. I declare there is scarcely a human being
in the room; and those odd people are staring so!'

He pressed her arm as he led her to his carriage. She is in; and yet,
before the door shuts, he lingers.

'I shall certainly walk,' said he. 'I do not think the easterly wind
will make me very ill. Good-bye! Oh, what a _coup-de-vent_!'

'Let me get out, then; and pray, pray take the carriage. I would much
sooner do anything than go in it. I would much rather walk. I am sure
you will be ill!'

'Not if I be with you.'

CHAPTER XII.

_Royal Favour_

THERE was a brilliant levee, all stars and garters; and a splendid
drawing-room, all plumes and _seduisantes_. Many a bright eye, as its
owner fought his way down St. James's Street, shot a wistful glance at
the enchanted bow-window where the Duke and his usual companions, Sir
Lucius, Charles Annesley, and Lord Squib, lounged and laughed, stretched
themselves and sneered: many a bright eye, that for a moment pierced the
futurity that painted her going in state as Duchess of St. James.

His Majesty summoned a dinner party, a rare but magnificent event, and
the chief of the house of Hauteville appeare