figure was distinguished, that her income was
certain, and her rank considerable. Nevertheless, Mr Broune knew of
himself that he was not a marrying man. He had made up his mind that
marriage would not suit his business, and he smiled to himself as he
reflected how impossible it was that such a one as Lady Carbury should
turn him from his resolution.

'I am so glad that you have come to-night, Mr Alf,' Lady Carbury said
to the high-minded editor of the 'Evening Pulpit.'

'Am I not always glad to come, Lady Carbury?'

'You are very good. But I feared--'

'Feared what, Lady Carbury?'

'That you might perhaps have felt that I should be unwilling to
welcome you after,--well, after the compliments of last Thursday.'

'I never allow the two things to join themselves together. You see,
Lady Carbury, I don't write all these things myself.'

'No indeed. What a bitter creature you would be if you did.'

'To tell the truth, I never write any of them. Of course we endeavour
to get people whose judgments we can trust, and if, as in this case,
it should unfortunately happen that the judgment of our critic should
be hostile to the literary pretensions of a personal friend of my own,
I can only lament the accident, and trust that my friend may have
spirit enough to divide me as an individual from that Mr Alf who has
the misfortune to edit a newspaper.'

'It is because you have so trusted me that I am obliged to you,' said
Lady Carbury with her sweetest smile. She did not believe a word that
Mr Alf had said to her. She thought, and thought rightly, that Mr
Alf's Mr Jones had taken direct orders from his editor, as to his
treatment of the 'Criminal Queens.' But she remembered that she
intended to write another book, and that she might perhaps conquer
even Mr Alf by spirit and courage under her present infliction.

It was Lady Carbury's duty on the occasion to say pretty things to
everybody. And she did her duty. But in the midst of it all she was
ever thinking of her son and Marie Melmotte, and she did at last
venture to separate the girl from her mother. Marie herself was not
unwilling to be talked to by Sir Felix. He had never bullied her, had
never seemed to scorn her; and then he was so beautiful! She, poor
girl, bewildered among various suitors, utterly confused by the life
to which she was introduced, troubled by fitful attacks of admonition
from her father, who would again, fitfully, leave her unnoticed for a
week at a