As for Vivi, after her friend is gone, she jumps up and rings for her maid. That important individual having made her appearance, she and Vivi are soon engrossed with the all-paramount question of the moment—dress. Half-a-dozen gowns are pulled out, put on, pulled off and discarded, until at length one appears to please more than the others. “How do you think I look in this, Marie?” she inquires a little anxiously. “Is it becoming?” “Mais, madame, c’est tout-à-fait charmante,” replies the well-drilled maid with an expression of admiration. Vivi is satisfied. The gown remains on her person, and in a short time she is dressed and ready for her day’s outing. Twelve o’clock strikes. A neat brougham dashes up to the door. In less time almost than it takes to tell it, Vivi has taken her seat in the carriage, and is being whirled through the busy streets of London, _en route_ to Captain Kilmarnock’s rooms. There she will pick him up, and together they will proceed to Maidenhead, what to do God knows. We had better leave them. A few minutes later, and there is another ring at the door, and the footman opens it to Mr. de Lacy Trevor. As he does so, the latter inquires— “Is Mrs. Trevor in?” “No, sir, just gone out,” answers the servant. “Do you know where to, James?” again asks Mr. Trevor. “I do not, sir, but perhaps Mademoiselle Marie will know.” Marie is called, and arrives all smiles and bows. “Really, she thinks madame has gone out for a drive with her friend Lady Manderton, and to lunch with her afterwards. _C’est tout._” Mr. Trevor sighs. “There will be no lunch wanted, James,” he observes quietly. “I shall lunch at the club.” He wanders down the street in the direction of St. James’s. He wonders if Vivi has forgotten the promise she made him that morning to lunch at home, and go for a ride with him afterwards. He so rarely sees her now, and when he does it is seldom alone. She never seems to have any time to give to him, and yet he is not brutal to her, or neglectful, or wrapped up in some one else, as many other men are. He loves her so dearly, and would do anything to make her happy; but he can quite see how she shuns him, and how much happier she looks when in Captain Kilmarnock’s company. And then, with a shudder, he starts and stares eagerly across the street, for there she is—yes, actually there she is, in Captain Kilmarnock’s brougham, with the captain beside her, driving rapidly in the direction of Piccadilly. Mr. Trevor has a strange lump in his throat as he ascends the steps of the Conservative and enters that roomy club. “Waiter!” he calls out, and his voice is somewhat husky. “Yes, sir.”