Vizard then informed Zoe that Lord Uxmoor had been staying some time at Basildon Hall, about nine miles off; so he had asked him to come over for a week, and he had accepted. “He will be here to dinner,” said Vizard. He then rang the bell, and sent for Harris, and ordered him to prepare the blue chamber for Lord Uxmoor, and see the things aired himself. Harris having retired, cat-like, Vizard explained, “My womankind shall not kill Uxmoor. He is a good fellow, and his mania--we have all got a mania, my young friends--is a respectable one. He wants to improve the condition of the poor--against their will.” “His friend! that was so ill. I hope he has not lost him,” said Zoe. “He hasn't lost him in this letter, Miss Gush,” said Vizard. “But you can ask him when he comes.” “Of course I shall ask him,” said Zoe. Half an hour before dinner there was a grating of wheels on the gravel. Severne looked out of his bedroom window, and saw Uxmoor drive up. Dark blue coach; silver harness, glittering in the sun; four chestnuts, glossy as velvet; two neat grooms as quick as lightning. He was down in a moment, and his traps in the hall, and the grooms drove the trap round to the stables. They were all in the drawing-room when Lord Uxmoor appeared; greeted Zoe with respectful warmth, Vizard with easy friendship, Severne and Miss Dover with well-bred civility. He took Zoe out, and sat at her right hand at dinner. As the new guest, he had the first claim on her attention and they had a topic ready--his sick friend. He told her all about him, and his happy recovery, with simple warmth. Zoe was interested and sympathetic; Fanny listened, and gave Severne short answers. Severne felt dethroned. He was rather mortified, and a little uneasy, but too brave to show it. He bided his time. In the drawing-room Lord Uxmoor singled out Zoe, and courted her openly with respectful admiration. Severne drew Fanny apart, and exerted himself to amuse her. Zoe began to cast uneasy glances. Severne made common cause with Fanny. “We have no chance against a lord, or a lady, you and I, Miss Dover.” “I haven't,” said she; “but you need not complain. She wishes she were here.” “So do I. Will you help me?” “No, I shall not. You can make love to me. I am tired of never being made love to.” “Well,” said this ingenuous youth, “you certainly do not get your deserts in this house. Even I am so blinded by my passion for Zoe, that I forget she does not monopolize all the beauty and grace and wit in the house.” “Go on,” said Fanny. “I can bear a good deal of it--after such a fast.” “I have no doubt you can bear a good deal. You are one of those that inspire feelings, but don't share them. Give me a chance; let me sing you a song.” “A love song?” “Of course.” “Can you sing it as well as you can talk it?” “With a little encouragement. If you would kindly stand at the end of the piano, and let me see your beautiful eyes fixed on me.” “With disdain?” “No, no.”