with either.
At present she was in real truth in love with Jack De Baron, and had
brought herself to think that if Jack would ask her, she would risk
everything. But were he to do so, which was not probable, she would
immediately begin to calculate what could be done by Jack's moderate
income and her own small fortune. She and Mrs. Houghton kissed each
other affectionately, being at the present moment close in each other's
confidences, and then she was introduced to Lady George. "Adelaide
hasn't a chance," was Miss Mildmay's first thought as she looked at the
young wife.

Then came Jack De Baron. Mary was much interested in seeing a man of
whom she had heard so striking an account, and for the love of whom she
had been told that a girl was almost dying. Of course all that was to
be taken with many grains of salt; but still the fact of the love and
the attractive excellence of the man had been impressed upon her. She
declared to herself at once that his appearance was very much in his
favour, and a fancy passed across her mind that he was somewhat like
that ideal man of whom she herself had dreamed, ever so many years ago
as it seemed to her now, before she had made up her mind that she would
change her ideal and accept Lord George Germain. He was about the
middle height, light haired, broad shouldered, with a pleasant smiling
mouth and well formed nose; but above all, he had about him that
pleasure-loving look, that appearance of taking things jauntily and of
enjoying life, which she in her young girlhood had regarded as being
absolutely essential to a pleasant lover. There are men whose very eyes
glance business, whose every word imports care, who step as though
their shoulders were weighed with thoughtfulness, who breathe
solicitude, and who seem to think that all the things of life are too
serious for smiles. Lord George was such a man, though he had in truth
very little business to do. And then there are men who are always
playfellows with their friends, who--even should misfortune be upon
them,--still smile and make the best of it, who come across one like
sunbeams, and who, even when tears are falling, produce the tints of a
rainbow. Such a one Mary Lovelace had perhaps seen in her childhood and
had then dreamed of him. Such a one was Jack De Baron, at any rate to
the eye.

And such a one in truth he was. Of course the world had spoiled him. He
was in the Guards. He was fond of pleasure. He was fairly well off i