“They should be no gardeners of mine if they were otherwise than good to you.--How do you do, once more, Mr. Thorburn?” added the master of Greenlands, looking across the table at the secretary, who had quietly seated himself in his accustomed place. “I did not think we should dine together when I came upon you this morning in the park.” This was an extreme concession on the part of Mr. Jerningham. As the two men faced each other in the lamplight, Theodore de Bergerac looked at them with an expression of surprise. “Did nothing strike you this morning, Jerningham, when you first saw Mr. Thorburn?” he asked, smiling. “A great many things struck me. But what especial thing should have struck me, that you know of, my dear De Bergerac?” “The likeness of your own youth. It really seems to me that there is something of a resemblance between you and Thorburn.” “I did not perceive it,” said Mr. Jerningham, with a coolness of tone that was not flattering to the younger man. “Nor did I,” added the secretary, promptly. This was a kind of preliminary passage-at-arms between the two men, who seemed foredoomed to be enemies in the great conflict of life. “Well, I suppose every one sees these things with a different eye,” said De Bergerac; “but really I fancy there is some likeness between you two.” CHAPTER II. MISS ST. ALBANS BREAKS HER ENGAGEMENT. AMID the many distractions of an editorial life, Mr. Desmond contrived to remember the promise made to his old tutor. He proved the warmth of his interest in Miss Alford’s dramatic career by an immediate appeal to the genial manager of the Theatre Royal, Pall Mall, and received in reply Mr. Hartstone’s assurance that the first vacancy in the young-lady department should be placed at Miss St. Albans’ disposal. “Bovisbrook has just sent me a charming little adaptation of _Côtelettes sautées chez Vefour_,” wrote Mr. Hartstone, in conclusion; “and as I find there are six young ladies in the caste--_ces dames_ of the Quartier Breda, I believe, in the original, but very cleverly transmogrified by Bovisbrook into school-girls from a Peckham academy, who go to dine with an old West-Indian uncle at Verey’s--I think I could manage to find an engagement for Miss St. Albans as early as March, when my Christmas burlesque will have had its run.” “As early as March!” said Mr. Desmond, as he read this letter; “and what is to become of that poor stage-struck little girl between this and March? Well, I suppose she can go back to Market Deeping, and shine as Pauline and Juliet, until the _côtelettes sautées_ piece is produced.” Having received a favourable reply from the lessee of the Pall Mall, Mr. Desmond’s next duty was to communicate its contents to the expectant father and daughter. At first, he thought of enclosing Hartstone’s friendly epistle, with a few lines from himself; but, on reflection, he decided against this plan of action.