ots.

These innocent conversations ended, and, after dinner, the company walked
about or sat beneath the stars in the fragrant evening air, the Earl
seated by Miss Willoughby, Scremerston smoking with Logan; while the
white dress of Lady Alice flitted ghost-like on the lawn, and the tip of
the Prince's cigar burned red in the neighbourhood. In the drawing-room
Lady Mary was tentatively conversing with the Jesuit, that mild but
probably dangerous animal. She had the curiosity which pious maiden
ladies feel about the member of a community which they only know through
novels. Certainly this Jesuit was very unlike Aramis.

'And who _is_ he like?' Logan happened to be asking Scremerston at that
moment. 'I know the face--I know the voice; hang it!--where have I seen
the man?'

'Now you mention it,' said Scremerston, '_I_ seem to remember him too.
But I can't place him. What do you think of a game of billiards,
father?' he asked, rising and addressing Lord Embleton. 'Rosamond--Miss
Willoughby, I mean--'

'Oh, we are cousins, Lord Embleton says, and you may call me Rosamond. I
have never had any cousins before,' interrupted the young lady.

'Rosamond,' said Scremerston, with a gulp, 'is getting on wonderfully
well for a beginner.'

'Then let us proceed with her education: it is growing chilly, too,' said
the Earl; and they all went to billiards, the Jesuit marking with much
attention and precision. Later he took a cue, and was easily the master
of every man there, though better acquainted, he said, with the foreign
game. The late Pope used to play, he said, nearly as well as Mr. Herbert
Spencer. Even for a beginner, Miss Willoughby was not a brilliant
player; but she did not cut the cloth, and her arms were remarkably
beautiful--an excellent but an extremely rare thing in woman. She was
rewarded, finally, by a choice between bedroom candles lit and offered by
her younger and her elder cousins, and, after a momentary hesitation,
accepted that of the Earl.

'How is this going to end?' thought Logan, when he was alone. 'Miss
Bangs is out of the running, that is certain: millions of dollars cannot
bring her near Miss Willoughby with Scremerston. The old gentleman ought
to like that--it relieves him from the bacon and lard, and the dollars,
and the associations with a Straddle; and then Miss Willoughby's family
is all right, but the girl is reckless. A demon has entered into her:
she used to be so quiet. I'd