"As for the papers," said Bobbie, "you see they're already at it hammer
and tongs. However, so long as the _Herald_ sticks to Ferrier, he has
very much the best of it. This new editor Barrington is an awfully
clever fellow."

"Barrington!--Barrington!" said Lady Niton, looking up, "That's the man
who's coming to-night."

"Coming here?--Barrington? Hullo, I wonder what's up?"

"He proposed himself, Oliver says; he's an old friend."

"They were at Trinity together. But he doesn't really care much about
Oliver. I'm certain he's not coming here for Oliver's _beaux yeux_, or
Lady Lucy's."

"What does it matter?" cried Lady Niton, disdainfully.

"H'm!--you think 'em all a poor lot?"

"Well, when you've known Dizzy and Peel, Palmerston and Melbourne,
you're not going to stay awake nights worriting about John Ferrier. In
any other house but this I should back Lord Philip. But I like to make
Oliver uncomfortable."

"Upon my word! I have heard you say that Lord Philip's speeches were
abominable."

"So they are. But he ought to have credit for the number of 'em he can
turn out in a week."

"He'll be heard, in fact, for his much speaking?"

Bobbie looked at his companion with a smile. Suddenly his cheek flushed.
He sat down beside her and tried to take her hand.

"Look here," he said, with vivacity, "I think you were an awful brick to
stick up for Miss Mallory as you did."

Lady Niton withdrew her hand.

"I haven't an idea what you're driving at."

"You really thought that Oliver should have given up all that money?"

His companion looked at him rather puzzled.

"He wouldn't have been a pauper," she said, dryly; "the girl had some."

"Oh, but not much. No!--you took a dear, unworldly generous view of
it!--a view which has encouraged me immensely!"

"You!" Lady Niton drew back, and drew up, as though scenting battle,
while her wig and cap slipped more astray.

"Yes--me. It's made me think--well, that I ought to have told you a
secret of mine weeks ago."

And with a resolute and combative air, Bobbie suddenly unburdened
himself of the story of his engagement--to a clergyman's daughter,
without a farthing, his distant cousin on his mother's side, and quite
unknown to Lady Niton.

His listener emitted a few stifled cries--asked a few furious
questions--and then sat rigid.

"Well?" said Bobbie, masking his real anxiety under a smiling
appearance.

With a great effort, Lady Niton composed herself. She s