“Unfortunately,” cried Lady Brotherton, “they are both out; and then it was a mere conjecture, you know. Excuse me a moment, and I will ask the servant if he knows whether my son or Miss Joscelyn have come in----” And she hurried to the door to tell Thomas, who was waiting in the passage, to tell Miss Joscelyn and Mr. Brotherton, if they should make their appearance, that she was very much engaged, and begged they would _not_ come in. “Remember, _not_ come in,” she whispered, earnestly. Alarm had seized upon her. She had laughed at Lionel’s description of old Isaac Oliver--but, good heavens! to be the means of introducing such a very undesirable relation to the knowledge of the Bonamys! She was almost too much frightened to be able to face the Vice-Consul again; but it had to be done. She found him pondering when she went back. Sir John was lying down to rest, so that they were alone; and poor Lady Brotherton’s punishment for her indiscretion was not yet over. “Did you say Miss Joscelyn?” he asked, “then I am sure it must be the same, for my son-in-law has Joscelyn in his name. He does not use it in an ordinary way, but on grand occasions; indeed I did not know it till I saw his signature at his marriage, and he has never liked to be questioned about it. Perhaps he may turn out to be a relation, a connection of your young friend.” “Oh, I don’t think that is at all likely,” cried Lady Brotherton hastily, “her mother is a cousin of Sir John’s--” then she faltered and coloured, seeing the inference to be drawn from her words. “I do not mean that Mr. Oliver’s family is not--everything that is desirable,” she said. The Vice-Consul looked up for a moment startled; but then he bethought himself of Lady Brotherton’s “way.” Her way he said to himself was well known. She was fond of connecting things that had no connection, and scorning those that had. So he answered without offence, “I did not suppose for a moment that you meant anything of the kind, Lady Brotherton; you will like him when you know him. He is as good a fellow as ever stepped; not very much educated--but so few of your young English squireocracy are.” “Do you think so, Mr. Bonamy?” her mind glanced straight of course to Lionel, and she felt a little offence as well as a disdainful pity for so foolish an opinion, and the grounds upon which it must have been formed. “Yes, I think so; they come here knowing no language but their own, without a notion what they have come for, or what they want, trying to get up cricket matches and yawning in the face of all that makes Italy desirable. If they want cricket they should stay in England, where they would get it at its best. Yes, it must be allowed we see a great many ignorant young fellows--who are thorough gentlemen all the same----”