altravers, smiling gravely; "at present I am undecided."

He turned away towards Evelyn as he spoke, and almost started to observe
that she was joined by a stranger, whose approach he had not before
noticed,--and that stranger a man of such remarkable personal
advantages, that, had Maltravers been in Vargrave's position, he might
reasonably have experienced a pang of jealous apprehension. Slightly
above the common height; slender, yet strongly formed; set off by
every advantage of dress, of air, of the nameless tone and pervading
refinement that sometimes, though not always, springs from early and
habitual intercourse with the most polished female society,--Colonel
Legard, at the age of eight and twenty, had acquired a reputation for
beauty almost as popular and as well known as that which men usually
acquire by mental qualifications. Yet there was nothing effeminate in
his countenance, the symmetrical features of which were made masculine
and expressive by the rich olive of the complexion, and the close jetty
curls of the Antinous-like hair.

They seemed, as they there stood--Evelyn and Legard--so well suited to
each other in personal advantages, their different styles so happily
contrasted; and Legard, at the moment, was regarding her with such
respectful admiration, and whispering compliment to her in so subdued
a tone, that the dullest observer might have ventured a prophecy by no
means agreeable to the hopes of Lumley Lord Vargrave.

But a feeling or fear of this nature was not that which occurred to
Maltravers, or dictated his startled exclamation of surprise.

Legard looked up as he heard the exclamation, and saw Maltravers,
whose back had hitherto been turned towards him. He, too, was evidently
surprised, and seemingly confused; the colour mounted to his cheek, and
then left it pale.

"Colonel Legard," said Cleveland, "a thousand apologies for my neglect:
I really did not observe you enter,--you came round by the front door, I
suppose. Let me make you acquainted with Mr. Maltravers."

Legard bowed low.

"We have met before," said he, in embarrassed accents: "at Venice, I
think!"

Maltravers inclined his head rather stiffly at first, but then, as if
moved by a second impulse, held out his hand cordially.

"Oh, Mr. Ernest, here you are!" cried Sophy, bounding into the hall,
followed by Mr. Merton, the old admiral, Caroline, and Cecilia.

The interruption seemed welcome and opportune. The admiral, with