"He has always been very particular and a little tender in that quarter; very sweet upon Lady May, I thought," said he. "Oh, very much gone, poor thing!" said Grace Maubray. "I think my guardian will have heard all about it. He was very angry, once or twice, with Richard Arden about his losing so much money at play. I believe he has lost a great deal at different times." "A great many people do lose money so. For the sake of excitement, they incur losses, and risk even their utter ruin." "How foolish!" exclaimed Miss Maubray. "Have you heard anything more about that affair of Lady Mary Playfair and Captain Mayfair? He is now, by the death of his cousin, quite sure of the title, they say." "Yes it must come to him. His uncle has got something wrong with his leg, a fracture that never united quite; it is an old hurt, and I'm told he is quite breaking up now. He is at Buxton, and going on to Vichy, if he lives, poor man." "Oh, then, there can be no difficulty now." "No, I heard yesterday it is all settled." "And what does Caroline Chambray say to that?" And so on they chatted, till his call was ended, and Mr. Longcluse walked down the steps with his head pretty busy. At the corner of a street he took a cab; and as he drove to Lady May's, those fragments of his short talk with Grace Maubray that most interested him were tumbling over and over in his mind. "So they are angry, very angry; and very proud and haughty people. I had no business dreaming of an alliance with Mr. Richard Arden. Angry, he may be--he may affect to be--but I don't believe she is. And proud, is he? Proud of her he might be, but what else has he to boast of? Proud and angry--ha, ha! Angry and proud. We shall see. Such people sometimes grow suddenly mild and meek. And she has accepted Lord Wynderbroke. I doubt it. Miss Maubray, you are such a good-natured girl that, if you suspected the torture your story inflicted, you would invent it, rather than spare a fellow-mortal that pang." In this we know he was a little unjust. "Well, Miss Arden, I understand your brother; I shall soon understand _you_. At present I hesitate. Alas! must I place you, too, in the schedule of my lost friends? Is it come to this?-- 'Once I held thee dear as pearl, Now I do abhor thee.'" Mr. Longcluse's chin rests on his breast as, with a faint smile, he thus ruminates. The cab stops. The light frown that had contracted his eyebrows disappears, he glances quickly up at the drawing-room windows, mounts the steps, and knocks at the hall door. "Is Lady May Penrose at home?" he asked. "I'll inquire, Sir." Was it fancy, or was there in his reception something a little unusual, and ominous of exclusion?