“Discontented, as usual,” said Lucian. “Your one idea respecting me, as usual,” replied Lydia, patiently, as they entered the station. The train, consisting of three carriages and a van, was waiting at the platform. The engine was humming subduedly, and the driver and fireman were leaning out; the latter, a young man, eagerly watching two gentlemen who were standing before the first-class carriage, and the driver sharing his curiosity in an elderly, preoccupied manner. One of the persons thus observed was a slight, fair-haired man of about twenty-five, in the afternoon costume of a metropolitan dandy. Lydia knew the other the moment she came upon the platform as the Hermes of the day before, modernized by a straw hat, a canary-colored scarf, and a suit of a minute black-and-white chess-board pattern, with a crimson silk handkerchief overflowing the breast pocket of the coat. His hands were unencumbered by stick or umbrella; he carried himself smartly, balancing himself so accurately that he seemed to have no weight; and his expression was self-satisfied and good-humored. But--! Lydia felt that there was a “but” somewhere--that he must be something more than a handsome, powerful, and light-hearted young man. “There is Lord Worthington,” she said, indicating the slight gentleman. “Surely that cannot be his invalid friend with him?” “That is the man that lives at the Warren,” said Alice. “I know his appearance.” “Which is certainly not suggestive of a valetudinarian,” remarked Lucian, looking hard at the stranger. They had now come close to the two, and could hear Lord Worthington, as he prepared to enter the carriage, saying, “Take care of yourself, like a good fellow, won’t you? Remember! if it lasts a second over the fifteen minutes, I shall drop five hundred pounds.” Hermes placed his arm round the shoulders of the young lord and gave him a playful roll. Then he said with good accent and pronunciation, but with a certain rough quality of voice, and louder than English gentlemen usually speak, “Your money is as safe as the mint, my boy.” Evidently, Alice thought, the stranger was an intimate friend of Lord Worthington. She resolved to be particular in her behavior before him, if introduced. “Lord Worthington,” said Lydia. At the sound of her voice he climbed hastily down from the step of the carriage, and said in some confusion, “How d’ do, Miss Carew. Lovely country and lovely weather--must agree awfully well with you. Plenty of leisure for study, I hope.” “Thank you; I never study now. Will you make a book for me at Ascot?” He laughed and shook his head. “I am ashamed of my low tastes,” he said; “but I haven’t the heap to distinguish myself in your--Eh?” Miss Carew was saying in a low voice, “If your friend is my tenant, introduce him to me.” Lord Worthington hesitated, looked at Lucian, seemed perplexed and amused at the name time, and at last said, “You really wish it?” “Of course,” said Lydia. “Is there any reason--”