IN the ensuing few months, save of course from the clique of “saved” ladies whom we left in the last chapter upon charitable thoughts intent, Evelyn Manwaring won golden opinions from all the inmates of the stately old Palace. No one could even see her without being struck by her grace and beauty, or fascinated by her lustrous eyes; no one could speak to her without being charmed by her quiet good sense, by the innocence of her nature, and by the sweetness and simplicity of her disposition. Her tender, considerate respect delighted the old; and her girlish buoyancy of spirits and bright cheerfulness--which, as her last great sorrow became more distant, began to assert itself more and more--charmed the young. The good Duchess learned to love her almost as a daughter; the Miss Hazelhursts could not make enough of her; Miss Strong found the assistant she had longed for in her works of charity; and poor, paralytic old Lady Stratton, who lived under the clock, and was cross and sour, felt her lonely life brightened when the girl came, as she often did, to read aloud to her. Even the fast daughters of the Countess of Quorndon, the Ladies Skandaliza and Coreopsis Corker, were awed by the gentle girl’s innocence and purity, and avowed they must be “good” when she was present. And the stronger sex? To a man, they were her devoted slaves. Sir Hercules Clarion, K.C.B., General Sir T. Blazer Brown, Lord Frederic Fitzfoodles, however much they differed on other points, were all agreed that Evelyn was perfection. Even Admiral Grogrum emancipated himself from Lady M’Adam, quarrelled with Lady Lavinia, snubbed Miss Scheimes, told the great Moodle to mind his own business, and declared that he “was doosed sure there wasn’t a girl on earth to compare with Miss Manwaring.” As to the younger men--sons, nephews, and other relations of the inmates of the Palace, who, holding offices in Town, came down to spend their Sundays with their friends--they were all over head and ears in love with her, and Lieutenant Sprattles, a young fellow with small brains but a tender heart, grew almost desperate on her account, and refused no one knows what gorgeous offers the Duke of Ribblesdale made him in secret, to consent to an exchange of regiments. It was fortunate, however, for the Duke that Jack Sprattles proved so obdurate, for in a few months an event took place which at all events broke the somewhat monotonous life of the dwellers at Hampton Court. The troop of the Hussars which, under Captain Conger and Lieutenant Sprattles, had for a considerable time been quartered at the barracks, was suddenly moved to Brighton, and its place was taken by a troop of the Fortieth Dragoons, a most distinguished regiment now quartered at Hounslow, and but just returned from India.