may possibly be going to marry."

There had never been such a man for Jane Fraser, so she said nothing,
but succeeded in looking confidential.

Presently Winifred allowed her happy foil to lace her up. She was going
to a ball given by the Lanes in Carlton House Terrace.

"Perhaps he will propose to you to-night," whispered Jane in a gush of
excitement as the two girls walked down the stairs to the carriage. "If
he does, what will you say?".

"I don't know."

"Oh, darling, but surely----"

"Eustace is so odd. I can't make him out."

"That is because he is a genius."

"He is certainly remarkable--in a way. Good-night, dear."

The carriage drove off, and the happy foil joined her maid, who was
waiting to conduct her home. On the way they gossipped, and the maid
expressed a belief that Mr. Lane was a fine young gentleman, but full of
his goings-on.

Jane knew what she meant. Eustace had once kissed her publicly in Jane's
presence, which deed the latter considered a stroke of genius, and the
act of a true and courageous pioneer.

Eustace was now just twenty-two, and he had already partially succeeded
in his ambition. His mask had deceived his world, and Mr. Bembridge's
prophecy about him was beginning to be fulfilled. He had done nothing
specially intellectual or athletic, was not particularly active either
with limbs or brain; but people had begun to notice and to talk about
him, to discuss him with a certain interest, even with a certain
wonder. The newspapers occasionally mentioned him as a dandy, a fop,
a whimsical, irresponsible creature, yet one whose vagaries were not
entirely without interest. He had performed some extravagant antic in a
cotillon, or worn some extraordinary coat. He had invented a new way
of walking one season, and during another season, although in perfect
health, he had never left the house, declaring that movement of any kind
was ungentlemanly and ridiculous, and that an imitation of harem life
was the uttermost bliss obtainable in London. His windows in Carlton
House Terrace had been latticed, and when his friends came there to see
him they found him lying, supported by cushions, on a prayer-carpet,
eating Eastern sweetmeats from a silver box.

But he soon began to tire of this deliberate imprisonment, and to reduce
buffoonery to a modern science. His father was a rich man, and he was an
only child. Therefore he was able to gratify the supposed whims, which
were no whims at all. He