en brought up so far away from the lofty Pallisers and
lofty Bavilards as almost to have lost the flavour of her birth. Her
father and mother had died when she was an infant, and she had gone
to the custody of a much older half-sister, Mrs. Atterbury, whose
mother had been not a Bavilard, but a Brown. And Mr. Atterbury was a
mere nobody, a rich, erudite, highly-accomplished gentleman, whose
father had made his money at the bar, and whose grandfather had
been a country clergyman. Mrs. Atterbury, with her husband, was
still living at Florence; but Adelaide Palliser had quarrelled with
Florence life, and had gladly consented to make a long visit to her
friend Lady Chiltern.

In Florence she had met Gerard Maule, and the acquaintance had not
been viewed with favour by the Atterburys. Mrs. Atterbury knew the
history of the Maule family, and declared to her sister that no
good could come from any intimacy. Old Mr. Maule, she said, was
disreputable. Mrs. Maule, the mother,--who, according to Mr.
Atterbury, had been the only worthy member of the family,--was long
since dead. Gerard Maule's sister had gone away with an Irish cousin,
and they were now living in India on the professional income of
a captain in a foot regiment. Gerard Maule's younger brother had
gone utterly to the dogs, and nobody knew anything about him.
Maule Abbey, the family seat in Herefordshire, was,--so said Mrs.
Atterbury,--absolutely in ruins. The furniture, as all the world
knew, had been sold by the squire's creditors under the sheriff's
order ten years ago, and not a chair or a table had been put into
the house since that time. The property, which was small,--L2,000 a
year at the outside,--was, no doubt, entailed on the eldest son; and
Gerard, fortunately, had a small fortune of his own, independent
of his father. But then he was also a spendthrift,--so said Mrs.
Atterbury,--keeping a stable full of horses, for which he could not
afford to pay; and he was, moreover, the most insufferably idle man
who ever wandered about the world without any visible occupation
for his hours. "But he hunts," said Adelaide. "Do you call that an
occupation?" asked Mrs. Atterbury with scorn. Now Mrs. Atterbury
painted pictures, copied Madonnas, composed sonatas, corresponded
with learned men in Rome, Berlin, and Boston, had been the intimate
friend of Cavour, had paid a visit to Garibaldi on his island with
the view of explaining to him the real condition of Italy,--and w