prudes; but nevertheless, ladies
were there, as unblemished in reputation, as high in rank, flirts and
coquettes, perhaps,--nothing more; in short, "charming women,"--the
gay butterflies that hover over the stiff parterre. And there were
ambassadors and ministers, and wits and brilliant debaters, and
first-rate dandies (dandies, when first-rate, are generally very
agreeable men). Amongst all these various persons, Harley, so long a
stranger to the London world, seemed to make himself at home with the
ease of an Alcibiades. Many of the less juvenile ladies remembered him,
and rushed to claim his acquaintance, with nods and becks, and wreathed
smiles. He had ready compliment for each. And few indeed were there,
men or women, for whom Harley L'Estrange had not appropriate attraction.
Distinguished reputation as soldier and scholar for the grave; whim and
pleasantry for the gay; novelty for the sated; and for the more vulgar
natures was he not Lord L'Estrange, unmarried, possessed already of
a large independence, and heir to an ancient earldom, and some fifty
thousands a year?

Not till he had succeeded in the general effect--which, it must be
owned, he did his best to create--did Harley seriously and especially
devote himself to his hostess. And then he seated himself by her side;
and, as if in compliment to both, less pressing admirers insensibly
slipped away and edged off.

Frank Hazeldean was the last to quit his ground behind Madame di Negra's
chair; but when he found that the two began to talk in Italian, and he
could not understand a word they said, he too--fancying, poor fellow,
that he looked foolish, and cursing his Eton education that had
neglected, for languages spoken by the dead, of which he had learned
little, those still in use among the living, of which he had learned
nought--retreated towards Randal, and asked wistfully, "Pray, what age
should you say L'Estrange was? He must be devilish old, in spite of his
looks. Why, he was at Waterloo!"

"He is young enough to be a terrible rival," answered Randal, with
artful truth.

Frank turned pale, and began to meditate dreadful bloodthirsty thoughts,
of which hair-triggers and Lord's Cricket-ground formed the staple.

Certainly there was apparent ground for a lover's jealousy; for Harley
and Beatrice now conversed in a low tone, and Beatrice seemed agitated,
and Harley earnest. Randal himself grew more and more perplexed. Was
Lord L'Estrange really enamoured