There was another line of carriages going west between the two young men and the equipage in question, and Magnus could see that his companion was in an agony of dread lest his salute should not be noticed, but, just at the right moment, the occupants of the barouche turned in their direction, acknowledged the raised hat of Lord Artingale, and, the pace just then increasing, the carriage passed on. "Feel better?" said Magnus, cynically. "Better? yes," cried the young man, turning to him flushed and with a gratified smile upon his face. "There, don't laugh at me, old fellow, I can't help it." "I'm not going to laugh at you. But you seem to have got it badly." "Awfully," replied the other. "Shouldn't have thought it of you, Harry. So those are the Mallow girls, eh?" "Yes. Isn't she charming?" "What, that girl with the soft dreamy eyes? Yes, she is attractive." "No, man," cried Artingale, impatiently; "that's Julia. I mean the other." "What, the fair-haired, bright-looking little maiden who looks as if she paints?" "Paints be hanged!" cried Artingale, indignantly, "it's her own sweet natural colour, bless her." "Oh, I say, my dear boy," said Magnus, with mock concern, "I had no idea that you were in such a state as this." "Chaff away, old fellow, I don't care. Call me in a fool's paradise, if you like. I've flirted about long enough, but I never knew what it was before." "Then," said Magnus, seriously, "you are what they call--in love?" "Don't I tell you, Mag, that I don't care for your chaff. There, yes: in love, if you like to call it so, for I've won the sweetest little girl that ever looked truthfully at a man." "And the lady--does she reciprocate, and that sort of thing?" "I don't know: yes, I hope so. I'm afraid to be sure; it seems so conceited, for I'm not much of a fellow, you see." "Let's see, it happened abroad, didn't it?" "Well, yes, I suppose so. I met them at Dinan, and then at Baden, and afterwards at Rome and in Paris." "Which means, old fellow, that you followed them all over the Continent." "Well, I don't know; I suppose so," said the young man, biting his moustache. "You see, Mag, I used to know Cynthia when she was little and I was a boy--when the governor was alive, you know. I was at Harrow, too, with her brothers--awful cads though, by the by. She can't help that, Mag," he said, innocently. "Why, Artingale, it makes you quite sheepish," laughed the artist. "I wish I could catch that expression for a Corydon." "For a what?" "Corydon--gentle shepherd, my boy." "Get out! Well, as I was telling you, old fellow, I met them abroad, and now they've come back to England, and they've been down at the rectory--Lawford Rectory, you know, six miles from my place. And now they've come up again." "So it seems," said Magnus, drily. "Chaff away, I don't mind," said Artingale.