drudgery; not young enough to take to it now.
So you think Darrell will marry again? A remarkably fine-looking fellow
when I last saw him: not old yet; I dare say well preserved. I wish I
had thought of asking him here--Montfort!" (Lord Montfort, with one
or two male friends, was passing by towards a billiard-room, opening
through a side-door from the regular suite) "Montfort! only think, we
forgot to invite Guy Darrell. Is it too late before our party breaks
up?"

LORD MONTFORT (sullenly).--"I don't choose Guy Darrell to be invited to
my house."

Carr Vipont was literally stunned by a reply so contumacious. Lord
Montfort demur at what Carr Vipont suggested? He could not believe his
senses.

"Not choose, my dear Montfort! you are joking. A monstrous clever
fellow, Guy Darrell, and at this CRISIS--"

"I hate clever fellows; no such bores!" said Lord Montfort, breaking
from the caressing clasp of Carr Vipont, and stalking away.

"Spare your regrets, my dear Carr," said Colonel Morley. "Darrell is
not in England: I rather believe he is in Verona." Therewith the Colonel
sauntered towards the group gathered round the piano. A little time
afterwards Lady Montfort escaped from the Duchess, and, mingling
courteously with her livelier guests, found herself close to Colonel
Morley. "Will you give me my revenge at chess?" she asked, with her rare
smile. The Colonel was charmed. As they sat down and ranged their men,
Lady Montfort remarked carelessly,

"I overheard you say you had lately received a letter from Mr. Darrell.
Does he write as if well,--cheerful? You remember that I was much with
his daughter, much in his house, when I was a child. He was ever most
kind to me." Lady Montfort's voice here faltered.

"He writes with no reference to himself, his health, or his spirits. But
his young kinsman described him to me as in good health,--wonderfully
young-looking for his years. But cheerful,--no! Darrell and I entered
the world together; we were friends as much as a man so busy and so
eminent as he could be friends with a man like myself, indolent by habit
and obscure out of Mayfair. I know his nature; we both know something of
his family sorrows. He cannot be happy! Impossible!--alone, childless,
secluded. Poor Darrell, abroad now; in Verona, too!--the dullest place!
in mourning still for Romeo and Juliet! 'T is your turn to move. In his
letter Darrell talked of going on to Greece, Asia, penetrating into the
depths of A