"Do," replied Sylla, laughing. "He is my fellow-conspirator, remember, though I don't suppose he will confess anything. It's delicious to see the utterly unconscious way in which he will upset people's schemes. I used really at first to think he did it innocently, but I soon discovered it was _malice prepense_." "Yes, I know Pansey Cottrell very well. He is very mischievous; though not malicious, unless you interfere with his personal comfort; rather given to playing tricks upon his fellow-creatures; but he is more of a Puck than a Mephistopheles.--Good morning, Mr. Cottrell. Pray come and give an account of yourself. Sylla tells me you have been passing Easter with the Bloxams." "Quite so," replied that gentleman, as he raised his hat. "Miss Sylla and I have been dedicating our poor talents to the amusement of Lady Mary's guests, and to the furtherance of Lady Mary's plans. I am sure she was much delighted at all the dancing and theatricals we inveigled her into. I presume," he continued, turning to Sylla, "that you have seen her since your arrival in town." "Not yet," returned the girl. "She told me, you know, at Todborough, that she and my aunt moved in somewhat different sets." "Which is hardly the case, as you know," interrupted Mrs. Wriothesley. "What do you suppose she meant by that?" "I?" replied Cottrell. "My dear Mrs. Wriothesley, I never pretend to understand what a woman means by doubtful speech of any kind. Our masculine understandings are a great deal too dense to penetrate the subtleties of feminine language. She might mean that she intends your grooves to lie far apart for the future; and then again she might mean something--something--else," continued Mr. Cottrell, rather vaguely. "So you think Mary Bloxam intends to see as little of me in future as possible?" rejoined Mrs. Wriothesley, taking no manner of notice of her companion's last words. "No; don't say I think so," interrupted Mr. Cottrell. "I told you particularly I could form no conclusion as to what she meant. However, this place is neutral ground, and all the world meets here, or rather would, if it was not so crowded that it is almost impossible to find anybody. But--ah, here comes Lady Mary and _la belle_ Blanche! Shall I stop her, and ask her what she does mean?" And Mr. Cottrell looked so utterly unconscious, that any one who did not know him might have deemed him actually about to put this awkward interrogatory. But the two ladies to whom he was speaking knew him better than that, and only laughed.