Alice glanced at his face, and reading there that he was in earnest, and meant to act on what he had said, pouted like a spoilt child who had been refused some coveted plaything, while Coverdale betook himself to his dressing-room in a “who-the-deuce-would-have-thought-of-her-turning-up!” frame of mind, from which he had by no means recovered when, with his wife, still mildly vindictive, hanging on his arm, he descended to the drawing-room. There they found Mr. and Mrs. Crane, and a lady whom Kate introduced as her old and particular friend, Miss Crofton. Having bowed to Alice, Miss Crofton turned towards Harry, observing to Kate, as she did so-- “I have never had the pleasure of meeting _Mrs_. Coverdale before; but Mr. Coverdale and I are old acquaintances; when I was travelling in Italy with the Muirs. Mr. Coverdale was also indulging his taste for the fine-arts, and we encountered each other at several points of the route.” As she spoke she held out her hand to Coverdale, who, after a moment’s hesitation, and with a slight accession of colour, just touched and immediately relinquished it, saying, in a cold but polite tone of voice-- “Do you know whether the Muirs are in England now, Miss Crofton?” As the person addressed remarked his look and tone, she pressed her lips together so forcibly that every trace of red vanished from them; but repressing all other sign of emotion, she replied to his question. Then taking a seat next Alice, she began cultivating her good graces with a degree of tact and talent which evinced her powers of shining in society, and deserved more success than it appeared to meet with.