me more bland and frequent. She could afford to
be gracious; she felt superiority, scorn, and safety.

As this seeming intimacy had matured, Vernon and his partner had
quitted the dance, and were conversing apart in the recess of one of the
windows, which the newspaper readers had deserted, in the part of the
room where Sir Miles and Dalibard, still seated, were about to commence
their third game at chess. The baronet's hand ceased from the task of
arranging his pawns; his eye was upon the pair; and then, after a long
and complacent gaze, it looked round without discovering the object it
sought.

"I am about to task your kindness most improperly, Monsieur Dalibard,"
said Sir Miles, with that politeness so displeasing to Ardworth, "but
will you do me the favour to move aside that fold of the screen? I wish
for a better view of our young people. Thank you very much."

Sir Miles now discovered Mainwaring, and observed that, far from
regarding with self-betraying jealousy the apparent flirtation going
on between Lucretia and her kinsman, he was engaged in animated
conversation with the chairman of the quarter sessions. Sir Miles was
satisfied, and ranged his pawns. All this time, and indeed ever since
they had sat down to play, the Provencal had been waiting, with the
patience that belonged to his character, for some observation from Sir
Miles on the subject which, his sagacity perceived, was engrossing his
thoughts. There had been about the old gentleman a fidgety restlessness
which showed that something was on his mind. His eyes had been
frequently turned towards his niece since her entrance; once or twice
he had cleared his throat and hemmed,--his usual prelude to some
more important communication; and Dalibard had heard him muttering to
himself, and fancied he caught the name of "Mainwaring." And indeed the
baronet had been repeatedly on the verge of sounding his secretary,
and as often had been checked both by pride in himself and pride for
Lucretia. It seemed to him beneath his own dignity and hers even to
hint to an inferior a fear, a doubt, of the heiress of Laughton. Olivier
Dalibard could easily have led on his patron, he could easily, if he
pleased it, have dropped words to instil suspicion and prompt question;
but that was not his object,--he rather shunned than courted any
reference to himself upon the matter; for he knew that Lucretia, if
she could suppose that he, however indirectly, had betrayed her to her