with a sort of washy sentimentality, which enabled him to pass as an individual of refined tastes and cultivated mind with those who did not look beyond the surface; personally he rejoiced in a complexion as of bad putty, and an amount of heroic beard and moustaches which would have stuffed a chair-cushion very comfortably. And being such as we have described him, Herr Hildebrand--an acquaintance of and introduced by Horace D’Almayne, who, in his multifarious occupations, may have been a banded-brother, for aught we know to the contrary--had suggested to Lord Alfred Courtland the great advantage it would be to him in his, the professor’s, talented absence, if he, Lord Alfred, could find any amiable pianiste of his acquaintance, able and willing to play duets with him, to “improve his time;” and as he said this in the presence of and immediately after a _tête-à-tête_ with Horace D’Almayne, it really was scarcely necessary for that judicious mentor to suggest to his lordship pretty little Mrs. Coverdale, although to guard against mistakes he did so. Thus Alfred Courtland and Alice had played a good many duets in Park Lane; and on the morning in question, luncheon being announced in the middle of one of these interesting performances half an hour sooner than usual, to guard against the possibility of anybody’s being too late, Alice, feeling by this time quite at home in her cousin’s house, coolly told Lord Alfred to come down and partake of the mid-day meal, as she was resolved to finish the duet after it was over, before she went to dress, and if they made haste she was sure there was plenty of time. But time unfortunately is one of those stubborn facts with which it is impossible to take a liberty without suffering for one’s rashness; and although the latter part of the duet was rattled through with a Costa-like rapidity, which elicited from his breathless lordship an acknowledgment that “it is the pace that kills,” yet when all the rest of the party were assembled, Alice was only half dressed. Then, as was his wont on such occasions, Mr. Crane fell into a fretful fuss, and trotted up and down the room, and made everybody fidgety and uncomfortable, especially Harry, who was provoked with Mr. Crane for being annoyed with Alice, and with Alice for having given him cause for annoyance. “There is a quiet way of arranging the matter, my dear sir,” he said; “let those who are ready start in the barouche, and I will wait and drive Alice in the mail-phaeton.”