Hilda Compton, a three months’ bride, was standing by looking like a Hilda Newton who had been born and bred in the centre of London society, daring in dress, self-possessed in manner, audaciously pretty in face. She echoed Mrs. Halse’s laugh, and the latter went on, to Loring: “You can come upstairs with us. It’s such a bore not to have a man!” and turning, led the way. That characteristic feature in her vociferous personality--Mrs. Halse’s hobbies--had become crystallised to a great extent since Hilda Newton’s engagement and marriage into a passion for matrimonial affairs; not necessarily for match-making; match-marring was quite as keen an interest with her. The comments with which she beguiled their way into the first room were mainly called forth by the young men and maidens of her acquaintance who happened to catch her eye, and whom she suspected of mutual likings or loathings. They had drifted halfway across the room without coming within speaking distance of any one they knew, when Mrs. Halse broke off in an energetically-whispered account of a certain pretty young woman’s partiality for--according to Mrs. Halse--an unresponsive young man, and exclaimed suddenly: “That’s Maud Pomeroy over there, isn’t it? It’s my belief that she wears those ridiculous white dresses so that people may have something to remember her by. There’s nothing in her face, that’s certain!” Loring glanced through the doorway into the other room, to where Miss Pomeroy, in white silk, was smiling very prettily upon a young man who was obviously, if his countenance was to be relied upon, making inane remarks to her. He was a very rich young man, and he had lately succeeded to a title. Loring smiled rather enigmatically. “It is surely impossible to associate two such dissimilar ideas as artifice and Miss Pomeroy--oil and water, you know.” “Milk and water, you mean!” put in Mrs. Compton, with a laugh. Mrs. Halse responded to the little witticism with obstreperous hilarity, and then turned suddenly and confidentially to Loring, and spoke in an eager semi-whisper: “Now, perhaps you can tell me,” she said; “nobody who knows her seems to have been able to pick up anything--not that she has any intimate friends, that kind of girl never has. But you know him, and men gossip much more than women, when all’s said and done. Has she behaved infamously to him, or has he behaved infamously to her?” “Has who behaved infamously to whom?” said Loring, smiling. Mrs. Halse unfurled her fan, and began to waft it vigorously and excitedly to and fro. “You do know something about it!” she exclaimed. “Hilda, he wouldn’t fence like that unless he knew something. But you’re not going to get out of it like that,” she continued, addressing herself again to Loring. “I’ll tell you plainly of whom I am talking, and you’ll tell me plainly what has happened. Maud Pomeroy is the she, and young Romayne is the he. Now, then.” “I give you my word that I know nothing about it.”