Cashel emphasized these counsels by taps of his forefinger on one of Bashville’s buttons. In conclusion, he nodded, opened the house-door, and walked away in buoyant spirits. Lydia, standing year the library window, saw him pass, and observed how his light, alert step and a certain gamesome assurance of manner marked him off from a genteelly promenading middle-aged gentleman, a trudging workman, and a vigorously striding youth who were also passing by. The iron railings through which she saw him reminded her of the admirable and dangerous creatures which were passing and repassing behind iron bars in the park yonder. But she exulted, in her quiet manner, in the thought that, dangerous as he was, she had no fear of him. When his cabman had found him and driven him off she went to her desk, opened a private drawer in it, took out her falher’s last letter, and sat for some time looking at it without unfolding it. “It would be a strange thing, father,” she said, as if he were actually there to hear her, “if your paragon should turn aside from her friends, the artists, philosophers, and statesmen, to give herself to an illiterate prize-fighter. I felt a pang of absolute despair when he replied to my forty thousand pounds a year with an unanswerable good-bye.” She locked up her father, as it were, in the drawer again, and rang the bell. Bashville appeared, somewhat perturbed. “If Mr. Byron calls again, admit him if I am at home.” “Yes, madam.” “Thank you.” “Begging your pardon, madam, but may I ask has any complaint been made of me?” “None.” Bashville was reluctantly withdrawing when she added, “Mr. Byron gave me to understand that you tried to prevent his entrance by force. You exposed yourself to needless risk by doing so; and you may make a rule in future that when people are importunate, and will not go away when asked, they had better come in until you get special instructions from me. I am not finding fault; on the contrary, I approve of your determination to carry out your orders; but under exceptional circumstances you may use your own discretion.” “He shoved the door into my face, and I acted on the impulse of the moment, madam. I hope you will forgive the liberty I took in locking the door of the boudoir. He is older and heavier than I am, madam; and he has the advantage of being a professional. Else I should have stood my ground.” “I am quite satisfied,” said Lydia, a little coldly, as she left the room. “How long you have been!” cried Alice, almost in hysterics, as Lydia entered. “Is he gone? What were those dreadful noises? IS anything the matter?” “Dancing and late hours are the matter,” said Lydia, coolly. “The season is proving too much for you, Alice.” “It is not the season; it is the man,” said Alice, with a sob.