rence of years; quite as likely to last his time. But between them
there was the difference of the nervous temperament and the lymphatic.
Travers, with less brain than Sir Peter, had kept his brain constantly
active; Sir Peter had allowed his brain to dawdle over old books and
lazily delight in letting the hours slip by. Therefore Travers still
looked young, alert,--up to his day, up to anything; while Sir Peter,
entering that drawing-room, seemed a sort of Rip van Winkle who had
slept through the past generation, and looked on the present with eyes
yet drowsy. Still, in those rare moments when he was thoroughly roused
up, there would have been found in Sir Peter a glow of heart, nay,
even a vigour of thought, much more expressive than the constitutional
alertness that characterized Leopold Travers, of the attributes we most
love and admire in the young.

"My dear Sir Peter, is it you? I am so glad to see you again," said
Travers. "What an age since we met, and how condescendingly kind you
were then to me; silly fop that I was! But bygones are bygones; come
to the present. Let me introduce to you, first, my valued friend, Mrs.
Campion, whose distinguished husband you remember. Ah, what pleasant
meetings we had at his house! And next, that young lady of whom she
takes motherly charge, my daughter Cecilia. Lady Glenalvon, your wife's
friend, of course needs no introduction: time stands still with her."

Sir Peter lowered his spectacles, which in reality he only wanted for
books in small print, and gazed attentively on the three ladies,--at
each gaze a bow. But while his eyes were still lingeringly fixed on
Cecilia, Lady Glenalvon advanced, naturally in right of rank and the
claim of old acquaintance, the first of the three to greet him.

"Alas, my dear Sir Peter! time does not stand still for any of us; but
what matter, if it leaves pleasant footprints? When I see you again, my
youth comes before me,--my early friend, Caroline Brotherton, now Lady
Chillingly; our girlish walks with each other; wreaths and ball-dresses
the practical topic; prospective husbands, the dream at a distance. Come
and sit here: tell me all about Caroline."

Sir Peter, who had little to say about Caroline that could possibly
interest anybody but himself, nevertheless took his seat beside Lady
Glenalvon, and, as in duty bound, made the most flattering account
of his She Baronet which experience or invention would allow. All the
while, however, h