“Myra,” said an intimate of the family, a handsome private secretary of Mr. Ferrars, to the daughter of the house, as he supplied her plate with some choicest delicacies, “I hope you have not forgotten your engagement to me which you made at Wimbledon two years ago?” “What engagement?” she haughtily inquired. “To marry me.” “I should not think of marrying any one who was not in the House of Lords,” she replied, and she shot at him a glance of contempt. The ladies rose. As they were ascending the stairs, one of them said to Mrs. Ferrars, “Your son’s name is very pretty, but it is very uncommon, is it not?” “‘Tis a family name. The first Carey who bore it was a courtier of Charles the First, and we have never since been without it. William wanted our boy to be christened Pomeroy but I was always resolved, if I ever had a son, that he should be named ENDYMION.” CHAPTER IV About the time that the ladies rose from the dinner-table in Hill Street, Mr. Sidney Wilton entered the hall of the Clarendon Hotel, and murmured an inquiry of the porter. Whereupon a bell was rung, and soon a foreign servant appeared, and bowing, invited Mr. Wilton to ascend the staircase and follow him. Mr. Wilton was ushered through an ante-chamber into a room of some importance, lofty and decorated, and obviously adapted for distinguished guests. On a principal table a desk was open and many papers strewn about. Apparently some person had only recently been writing there. There were in the room several musical instruments; the piano was open, there was a harp and a guitar. The room was rather dimly lighted, but cheerful from the steady blaze of the fire, before which Mr. Wilton stood, not long alone, for an opposite door opened, and a lady advanced leading with her left hand a youth of interesting mien, and about twelve years of age. The lady was fair and singularly thin. It seemed that her delicate hand must really be transparent. Her cheek was sunk, but the expression of her large brown eyes was inexpressibly pleasing. She wore her own hair, once the most celebrated in Europe, and still uncovered. Though the prodigal richness of the tresses had disappeared, the arrangement was still striking from its grace. That rare quality pervaded the being of this lady, and it was impossible not to be struck with her carriage as she advanced to greet her guest; free from all affectation and yet full of movement and gestures, which might have been the study of painters. “Ah!” she exclaimed as she gave him her hand, which he pressed to his lips, “you are ever faithful.” Seating themselves, she continued, “You have not seen my boy since he sate upon your knee. Florestan, salute Mr. Wilton, your mother’s most cherished friend.” “This is a sudden arrival,” said Mr. Wilton.