I do not know that he was so popular as Sir Ronald, for Kenelm had a kind of half-haughty grace with him that produced great effect. People at first sight considered him proud and haughty; they were apt to take away with them a somewhat disagreeable and untruthful impression of him; but if in the hour of distress you needed a friend, if in adversity you needed help, if in trouble you wanted succor, then the value of Kenelm Eyrle’s sterling character came to light. He was always, as an old soldier expressed it, to the front. Others might fail; he never did. And now the two friends, who had parted youths, met as men, with a hearty clasp of the hand, an Englishman’s only way of expressing delight and emotion. “I only returned from Egypt last week,” said Kenelm. “A sudden fancy to see the pyramids took possession of me, and I went.” Sir Ronald laughed. “I hope such a fancy will never take possession of me,” he said. “I shall not leave England again. I find no place like it.” “The dark-eyed daughters of sunny Spain do not charm you, then, Ronald?” His face flushed slightly. “No,” he replied; “I like the women of our own land best.” “You have seen Miss Severn. What do you think of her?” “She is very beautiful--wonderfully improved,” replied Sir Ronald; and the great pity was that they did not there and then trust each other. Sir Ronald took the idea that Kenelm was in love with Lady Hermione; Kenelm believed his friend to be in love with Miss Severn. One word more, and our story can resume its course. There was yet another link in the chain. Clarice Severn had always preferred Sir Ronald to every one else in the wide world. In her girlhood she had mistaken his kindness for love. Now that she was a woman she vowed to herself that that love should by some means or other be hers. She was no tragedy queen, no woman capable of poisoning or stabbing or drowning a rival, should one appear; but in a world-scheming kind of way she was ready to do anything that would secure his love for herself. On the morning that she met him at Lord Lorriston’s, Clarice admired him as much as he, in his turn, admired Lady Hermione. She saw that Sir Ronald was inclined to admire the earl’s daughter, and she laid many little plans in her own mind to keep them apart. “I am more beautiful than Hermione,” she thought to herself, in all probability; “richer, quite as well born. Why should he prefer her to me?” And why? How many thousands of girls have asked themselves that question? Why, when Clarice loved him, should his whole heart, soul, mind and fancy be concentrated upon another?