asylum; that Kate looked bored and tired, which she did not wonder at; that Horace D’Almayne was fitter for the Zoological than the Horticultural Gardens, and deserved to be caged with the chimpanzees without loss of time; and, finally (forgetting their separation had resulted from a caprice of her own), that Harry was very unkind to stay away from her in that way, with that hateful creature, Arabella Crofton, whom she was sure he liked after all, though he did pretend to treat her so coldly. Then people began to push and crowd, and dresses became tumbled; and D’Almayne having left the party to look for Harry and Miss Crofton, Mr. Crane misled them, and they fell into difficulties, and were very hot and uncomfortable; and Alice quite pined to meet her husband, whose sturdy arm would have supported her, and whose tall figure and broad shoulders would have forced a way for her through the crowd. Next, Lord Alfred began to tease her to give him a flower from her bouquet, and got snubbed for his pains; until Horace D’Almayne, returning, made his report, viz., that, after much toil and trouble, he had at length discovered Miss Crofton and Mr. Coverdale, seated together in a shady corner, apparently absorbed in some deeply interesting topic of conversation. This information, tallying so exactly with her worst fears, and finding poor little Mrs. Coverdale both vexed and tired, very nearly produced a burst of tears, to avoid which pathetic display she did that which the unfortunate first Mrs. Dombey failed to effect--viz., she “made an effort,” and became, not exactly herself again, but Alice Coverdale as she appeared when enacting the heartless coquette. And this she did, poor child! not from a want, but from a superfluity of heart. So, seeking to read her truant husband a practical moral lesson on the iniquity of charioteering dangerous damsels, in common with whom he possessed mysterious antecedents, she afforded Lord Alfred a “material guarantee” of her favour, in the shape of the flower he had coveted; and having thus firmly riveted his chains, ostensibly petted and made much of her captive. This conduct on his wife’s part was by no means calculated to soothe Harry Coverdale, pained, ruffled, and excited by his conversation with Arabella Crofton; and, without reflecting on the prudence or politeness of such a proceeding, he left his late companion to take care of herself, and stalking with stately steps, as of an offended lion, up to Lord Alfred Courtland, observed, in a tone of dignified irony-- “I am much obliged to your Lordship for taking such _extreme_ care of Mrs. Coverdale, but will now relieve you from any further trouble on her account: take my arm, Alice.”