At the close of the second act, as she was urging her sister and brother-in-law to take some refreshment, she was disagreeably interrupted by hearing a voice which she recognised as that of Mr Portland, a friend of Lord Ilfracombe’s. Jack Portland (as he was usually called by his own sex) was a man whom Miss Llewellyn particularly disliked, on account of his bad influence over the Earl. He was a well-known betting and sporting man, who lived on the turf, and whose lead Lord Ilfracombe was, unfortunately, but too ready to follow. She shrunk back as she encountered him, but Mr Portland was not easily rebuffed. ‘Ah, Miss Llewellyn,’ he exclaimed, as he scrambled over the vacant seats to reach her side, ‘is this really you? I thought I recognised you from the stalls, but could hardly believe my eyes. What are you doing in the dress circle? I have always seen you in a box before.’ ‘I am with friends, Mr Portland,’ replied Miss Llewellyn, with visible annoyance; ‘and one can see a play like this much better from the circle. We have been enjoying it very much.’ ‘You must be pretty well sick of it by this time, I should think,’ returned Mr Portland, with his glass stuck in his eye, ‘for I’ve seen you here twice with Ilfracombe already. By the way, how is Ilfracombe? When did you hear from him last?’ Miss Llewellyn was on thorns. ‘Will you excuse me, Mr Portland,’ she said, with a face of crimson, ‘but I and my friends were just going to have some ices at the buffet.’ ‘By Jove, but you won’t!’ exclaimed the officious Portland. ‘I will send them to you. How many do you want? Three?’ ‘Yes, three if you please,’ answered Miss Llewellyn, who saw no other way of getting rid of her tormentor, and dreaded what he might say before her sister. ‘Who is that gentleman, Nell?’ inquired Hetty as soon as his back was turned. ‘No one in particular,’ said the other, ‘only an acquaintance of Lord Ilfracombe’s. Don’t take any notice of him, Hetty. He talks a lot of nonsense.’ She was praying all the time that Mr Portland, having given his orders to the waiter, might see he was not wanted, and go back to his stall. But he was not the sort of man who gives something for nothing. He meant to be paid for the attention, though in his own coin. The waiter soon appeared bearing the tray of ices and wafers, and in his train came Mr Jack Portland, smiling as if he knew his welcome was assured. ‘I’ve got you Neapolitan, Miss Llewellyn, you see. I remembered that Ilfracombe always orders Neapolitan. By the way, you never told me the contents of his last letter. He’s very gay at Malta I hear. Always with those Abingers. Have you heard of the Abingers? He’s the admiral there. By George, Miss Llewellyn, I’d recall Ilfracombe if I were you. Send him home orders, you know. He’s been out there quite long enough, don’t you think so?’