‘No! leave me alone!’ he answered, in a tone which caused even her unsensitive cheek to grow red as she attempted to cover her confusion by addressing herself to the rest of the party. ‘Dear Mr. Lovett! I have not spoken to you yet. But I always keep the best to the last, you know. You’re my _bong bouche_! How tired you look this evening. Tessie, you should take more care of your papa! I don’t at all hold with running after poor people and forgetting those at home.’ ‘I hope we don’t do that. Do we, papa?’ said Tessie, with her quiet smile. ‘No, my dear! certainly not! But I think I overwalked myself a little this morning. These warm days in autumn are more enervating sometimes than those of summer.’ ‘But you shouldn’t overwalk yourself, dear Mr. Lovett, and you should have broth or something good prepared for you against your return. Do you have broth made for your father, Tessie?’ ‘Papa has everything he requires, thank you, Miss Markham,’ replied Ange, briskly. ‘If he asked for the Coliseum at Rome, Tessie would get it for him if she could.’ ‘Ah! but you mustn’t wait till he asks for it. You should anticipate his wishes. That is not a very tidy fashion of wearing your hair, Ange. It is half-way down your back.’ ‘I know it is,’ said Ange, bluntly. ‘Go and put it up, my dear! go and put it up!’ said her father, with kindly authority. And the girl, little pleased at an order which had originated with Miss Markham, left the room with a lingering step and a grimace. ‘I passed you last evening, Miss Marsh,’ continued our visitor; ‘but you appeared to be so _deeply_ engaged that I wouldn’t stop to speak, for fear of spoiling sport.’ ‘You were wise, perhaps,’ was my reply. ‘Not that I envied you your admirer, you know; he, he, he! He was rather too bucolic-looking for my taste. I should say he had never been farther than a turnip-field in his life before.’ ‘You’re quite right, Miss Markham, as you always are.’ ‘Well, my penetration is not often in fault.’ ‘I am sure of it! Considering that Mr. Sandilands is a regular cockney and has lived in London all his life, you have made a first-rate shot!’ She reddened somewhat and began to sniff, after a peculiar manner she had whenever she found herself in the wrong. ‘Ah, well! his looks belie the fact, that’s all! if it _is_ a fact. Is that little black monkey off your back yet, Mr. Charteris?’ ‘I am not aware it was ever there, Miss Markham.’ ‘Never mind; we won’t say anything more about it, but make it up next time we are alone. Have you heard the last rumour about those dreadful Johnstones, Mr. Lovett? They actually say that she was nothing but a milliner’s apprentice, whom he picked up in the streets carrying a bandbox in her hands. What shall we come to next, I wonder, when such creatures are permitted to move about society without being labelled?’