Full of one thought--Ida--he was betimes at Colonel Rakes' house--earlier, indeed, than was his wont--and piloted his way up the great staircase and through the great drawing-rooms, which were hung with stately family portraits of the Rakes of other times, and were already crowded with people of the best style, for the 'at-home' was usually a 'crusher' in this house; a sea of velvets and silks, diamonds, and sapphires; and every other man wore a ribbon, star, or order of some kind. Of his hostess Lady Rakes, a _fade_ old woman of fashion, with her company smile and insipid remarks for all in succession, and her husband the Colonel, who, till Sir Carnaby came, was ever about Evelyn Desmond, with whom he fancied himself to have an incipient flirtation, we shall say no particular more, as they have no part in our story. The Collingwoods had not yet arrived. Vane could see nothing of them amid the throng while looking everywhere for Ida. Any very definite idea he had none; but love was the impulse that led him to seek her society so sedulously again--to see her, and hear her voice. How often had he said and thought, even while his whole heart yearned for her, 'I shall never torment myself by looking on her face again!' and now he was searching for her with a heart that was hungry and eager. He heard carriage after carriage come up and deposit its occupants, name after name announced, and saw group after group stream up the staircase and glide through the doors. Would she come after all? He was beginning to fear not, when suddenly the name of 'Collingwood' caught his ear, and the well-saved old dandy, with an unusually bright smile on his thin aristocratic face, appeared with Clare leaning on one arm and Ida on the other. With all their beauty, we have said that he felt his daughters a bore; thus, so soon as he could, he made all haste to leave them in the care of others, while he mixed with the glittering throng. So dense was the latter that a considerable time elapsed ere Vane could make his way to where the sisters stood, with more than one admirer near them. There, too, was Desmond, with his cross of the Bath, and a delicate waxen flower in his lapel. Clara's refusal had certainly piqued, but not pained, the tall, languid guardsman with the tawny hair; yet he did not think his chances of ultimate success, if he cared sufficiently to attain it, were over yet; but his love was of that easy nature--more like a listless flirtation than love--that he was in no haste to press his suit again; for if this affair, and 'a very absurd affair, by Jove!' he deemed it, between Sir Carnaby and his fast sister actually came off, he would find himself often enough in the charming society of Clare; but what a joke it would be to think that Evelyn might be his mother-in-law.