“But surely you would never have me tell _her_, and her own husband the hero of the adventure!” expostulated Lord Alfred. “Listen, _mon cher_, one moment,” was D’Almayne’s reply, spoken in a low, impressive voice; “I do not wish you to follow _any_ particular line of conduct; I have no interest to serve, no desire to gratify, by your doing or abstaining from anything; but when you tell me you desire to gain such and such a social position, and ask my advice as to the best way of attaining your wishes, I, as your friend, point out the means to you--it is for you to judge whether they are such as you choose to employ. You must now excuse me: I see some old acquaintances of mine, to whose memory I am anxious to recall myself.” “Then you really advise me to tell her!” exclaimed Lord Alfred, seizing D’Almayne’s arm in his eagerness and indecision. “I really advise nothing of the kind, _mon cher_,” was the reply; “I have already cautioned you against that abrupt plain-speaking of yours; you _should_ divest yourself of that rustic habit. You could scarcely sin more deeply against good taste and good breeding than to go to _la belle_ Coverdale, and bring a railing accusation against her husband, nor could you divine a plan more certain to frustrate your hopes and wishes; but if, grieving over her misplaced confidence, you philanthropically incline to hint to her that he is scarcely the immaculate ascetic her imagination depicts, _c’est tout autre chose!_ and now you must excuse me;” and as he spoke, he gently freed his coat-sleeve from Lord Alfred’s grasp, and regarding him with a half-sarcastic, half-compassionate, but wholly irritating smile, he turned and quitted the spot. Thus left to his own reflections, which were none of the most agreeable, Lord Alfred paused for a few moments in indecision; then, with a hand tremulous from excitement, again replenished his glass, tossed down the Champagne, and returned to the dancing-room. During her admirer’s absence, Alice had, for want of some more interesting occupation, been conversing with Arabella Crofton, using all her skill to try to elicit some particulars of her acquaintance with Harry in Italy, in which endeavour she had been most adroitly foiled by the quiet self-possession of the _ci-devant_ governess, who told her most readily all she did _not_ care to learn, and nothing that she did. As Lord Alfred approached, an individual was introduced to Miss Crofton, who desired the honour of her hand for the next polka, which desire that young lady obligingly gratified, thus affording his lordship an opportunity of seating himself by Alice, of which he instantly availed himself. “It is never right to believe in a fair lady’s nay,” he began, “so I have returned to afford you an opportunity of confessing your change of mind with a good grace; come, they are just going to begin a new polka, let us take our places.”